


The Untold Years

by WorstofAllEvils



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Developing Relationship, Dubious Morality, Explicit Language, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Jealousy, Knights of Walpurgis, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Psychology, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Sane Tom Riddle, Slow Burn, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Swearing, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:27:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 33
Words: 164,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23621569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WorstofAllEvils/pseuds/WorstofAllEvils
Summary: Between Hogwarts and the First Wizarding War, there is a time in Tom Riddle's life that no one talks about. There are plots and lies that not even Dumbledore knows. And there is a woman. When Tom meets her, there is a familiar feeling that runs through him right away. The desire to possess something very rare and powerful. He had felt it for the basilisk, for the ring, and now for her. She is a woman as mysterious and deadly as Tom himself, and he cannot wait to wrap her around his finger and use her to further his plans. Instead, she will alter them - and him - forever.
Relationships: Tom Riddle/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 145
Kudos: 142





	1. The Forbidden Fruit

**Author's Note:**

> I have been writing this up for a while, because I had the idea that this time in Tom's life is talked about so little and I wanted to explore what happened - why he worked at Borgin and Burkes for over ten years and why he eventually left to start off on the path we all know so well. This is just a short intro chapter to see if anybody else finds the concept intriguing and would actually read such a thing. Please please comment if you want me to keep going, it is really motivating to get people's actual thoughts/feedback on things :) Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Note: Cross-posted on FF.net because my previous stories were posted there.

It is snowing when they first meet. Tom is standing at the counter, examining new inventory. He is bored. He has been working at Borgin and Burkes for over five years now, and more than occasionally he thinks it is time to move on - but each time he is about to leave some forbidden, dangerous, curious little magical thing appears in the shop and reminds him why he took the position in the first place.

Today, she is that curious little magical thing. When the bell above the door rings and he looks up, he recognizes her right away despite the fact that it has been years since her face was last splashed on the front of the Daily Prophet. What was the woman that caused the fall of the last Minister for Magic doing in England again, let alone in his shop?

He holds his question in his head and instead says politely, "Good afternoon, miss. How may we help you today?"

She gives him a faint half-smile as she walks toward the counter, eyes scanning all corners of the little store. Finally, they narrow in on him as she stops a step or two short of the counter, "I have an appointment with Borgin, if you wouldn't mind showing me the way to his office sir."

"Let me just make sure he is available. I will return shortly," Tom answers, carefully expressionless as he locks away the drawer containing the ledger book and closes the inventory case.

"He's available. As I said, I have an appointment," she says sharply before he can turn to walk away. At his accidental glare back at her she adds, "Don't worry, I'm not going to murder him. I am innocent, as I'm sure you read."

There is a laugh behind the little smirk she gives him, eyes purposefully big and blinking rapidly. Tom knows that face. He has made that face countless times. Based on that face, he knows she knows he suspects her words are false.

"I am not sure what you are referring to, miss," Tom says, feigning ignorance in hopes of wiping that wry smile off her face. Only someone full of themselves would think they are so infamous that anybody in wizarding Britain would recognize them in a second, he thinks.

Then again, he had recognized her from just the briefest glance at her features. It is her hair that did it, he thinks. It is a distinctive color between light and dark brown, with a few strands glinting gold and red in the light reflecting from the lamps just as they had in the moving pictures on the special editions of the Prophet.

"I am happy to show you the way to Borgin's office," Tom declares as he remembers himself, stepping out from behind the counter. He gestures for her to come with him, but she does not step forward until he starts moving, maintaining a distance of a few steps behind him until he reaches the door and knocks on it. He hears Borgin mutter a greeting and pokes his head in, announcing, "You have a visitor, Mr. Borgin."

From the greedy interest in Borgin's eyes when he nods to let him know she can come in, Tom guesses there must be something even more special about her visit than he has discovered so far. He steps aside, holding the door. She glances at him from the side as she enters, examining him as she had examined the shop. When she has cleared the door, Tom lets it shut fully, knowing he is being watched. He won't get away with circumventing the silencing spell on the office by leaving it just a touch open and listening to the side this time.

* * *

Only fifteen minutes pass before he is interrupted at the counter again. This time, she and Borgin both come walking up together. The pinched expression on her face has relaxed into a congenial smile, and he would almost believe she is actually a normal, polite witch from the small talk about the weather he overhears from them.

Tom stands at attention as Borgin gestures to him, "This is Tom Riddle. A fine man, sharp as they make them. As he usually handles the scouting of new items, I will share the details of your request with him and he will be in touch when anything fitting such a description is available. The wife will be expecting me home for supper already, so I am afraid I must bid a good evening to you now."

She nods and wishes the same to him. She turns slightly to watch Borgin walking out before shifting her attention back to him. She reaches out a hand to shake the one Tom is offering, "Nice to formally meet you, Mr. Riddle. Cassandra Alexander."

"Nice to meet you as well, Ms. Alexander," Tom responds. As soon as he touches her fingers he feels it. _Magic_. He usually can't, except with the strong ones. She drops his hand quickly and looks away, eyes wandering to the back of the shop again. He examines her, noting her eyes are the same caramel color as her hair, noting the sharp tilt of her cheekbones and the tight clench of her jaw.

"Shame, I wanted to look at a few more things, but as Borgin had to rush out, I assume the shop is closing up soon?" She asks, still a thousand miles away in her mind.

"I can stay if you would like to have a look around. Please do let me know if you have any questions," Tom offers with the smile he reserves for only his best customers. Curious, this one. Very curious. And he is very curious about what she is looking so intently at.

She wanders away and he quickly loses interest, turning back to his work on the ledger. He finishes before she returns and pulls out his notebook, jotting down items of interest he'd seen that day to research further.

"There's nothing stopping me from being in England, just in case you were about to owl the ministry," she says. He looks up to see her looking at his hand on the quill. He hadn't heard her approaching, and he was not used to being snuck up on.

He takes a moment to push down his annoyance before feigning a polite tone, "I was preparing to write down your address."

"Borgin knows how to contact me."

"Clients usually prefer that we come to them. I would hate to inconvenience you by making you trek all the way to the shop again. I assure you I can make myself available for appointments at the times most convenient for you."

"I don't think you've earned my address yet, Mr. Riddle."

He flinches at his stupid muggle father's name. Gods, how he wished he could change it now. Tom was not so bad. Tom was common, and he would rather have something that reflected how exceptional he was - but at least Tom was normal enough for him not to remember the connection every time he heard it, not to resent what he didn't have every time it was spoken aloud. Well, it wasn't like the last name she was using now was any less filthy than his.

She puts a heavy wooden box down on the counter in front of him. He opens it to see two identical silver rings. He recognizes the item. He'd taken it into inventory years ago out of curiosity. It had gone from one of the display cases by the front window to the back shelf of knick-knacks after no one had seemed to recognize - or at least be interested in - it all this time.

"Well, how much?" She inquires.

He realizes he has been staring at the rings and looks up again, "45 galleons."

"As a gesture of goodwill at the start of our business relationship, I won't negotiate this time. Next time do expect a good fight."

"Do you even know what they are?" He asks, realizing how snide his tone is a touch too late.

"I do," she says, thumbing through her coin purse and picking out money to put on the counter.

"They don't work anymore. I checked. The spell has faded."

She finally reacts to his abrasive tone, her eyes narrowing up at him. Despite that, the polite smile remains on her face as she replies in a half-joking tone, "One would think you are trying to avoid taking my money."

"Just wanted you to know what you are getting," he responds with a shrug. He spells the coins from the counter and into the till. "Most people appreciate honesty."

"People who appreciate honesty should do their own checking to make sure they are getting it," she responds smoothly. "You think I murdered someone and yet you don't think I am capable of some simple protection magic?"

Now he was sure she had almost definitely murdered someone and was making jokes about it. And she knew about dark magic he hadn't even found any readings on yet. His new client is definitely a customer worth having.

"You're innocent, aren't you?" He quips back, knowing he has let a smirk slip on to his face but unable to help himself. He thinks he sees one on her too as she picks up the box and tucks it in to her bag.

"Good night, Mr. Riddle. I'll send directions to my home by owl in the morning."

* * *

Tom throws his coat to the house elf as he strides in to the front door of Rosier's townhouse. The sound of his footsteps in the hall make all of the boys quite down, their voices dropping down to silence almost instantly. He scans them as he walks over to the bar cart, helping himself to a glass of whisky. When he has poured it, he turns back to them, all craning their necks around to look at him.

"Sorry I'm late boys," Tom declares. "The most unexpected person came into the shop today."

"Who? Minister Tuft herself?" Lestrange asks with a chuckle.

"Close," Tom says, inclining an eyebrow toward him. "Cassandra Alexander."

Avery nearly spits up his own drink as he barks out, "The blood-traitor black widow?"

"Good thing for her that she didn't try to make you her next victim," Lestrange quips.

"I thought she was still banned from Britain," Rosier interjects.

"No, she was never banned," Lestrange replies. "Fawley said they were going to try to get her for something else and then she up and left - what was it, three years ago now? Did she happen to mention where she's been all these years?"

"Probably France," Avery offers. Tom sips his drink and observes their interest.

"Not France. Nobody's seen her there," Rosier says.

"Probably somewhere people can't read English and don't get the prophet then. South America or something exotic like that," Avery guesses again.

"She's not the type to murder her husband and then fuck off to some country she doesn't want to be in just because the people there don't know she did it," Lestrange says before laughing. "Probably bought her own island, had it picked out before even doing the deed so she'd have time to find the perfect one."

"Probably stayed here all along, just hiding since everybody knows she did," Avery speculates.

Tom finally walks over to the armchair he always takes by the fire. The boys wait for him to talk. He takes another sip before saying, "Everybody knows she did it and yet there wasn't enough evidence for the ministry to even mount a trial. Fascinating, isn't it? Either everybody's wrong or she's very talented."

Lestrange shrugs and says dismissively, "It is the ministry."

Tom catches Rosier glaring as he responds, "Just because you've never liked her, doesn't mean she isn't good at magic."

"Did you forget she married a mudblood, Rosier?" Lestrange replies, leaning forward in his chair. Tom wonders briefly if he'd bother to stop a duel between them. Probably not. It might be interesting to see who wins.

"She might have had the youthful foolishness to marry a mudblood, but at least she had the good sense to kill him off before giving birth to any monstrosities."

Tom decides to ignore Rosier's lack of attention to his words, decides that ignoring the dig at half-bloods is better than reminding all of them that he is one himself.

"She's still a blood traitor," Lestrange spits out edging ever forward as if he is about to erupt.

"For all we know, she could have been under the influence of some potion or spell. She certainly never showed any love for muggles or mudbloods before she ran off with him," Rosier barks back, hand already in his wand pocket. "As fun as it is to gossip, perhaps accept that you don't know everything in the world, Lestrange."

"I do know why she married him. We all do, don't we? Her family lost all their money yet now she has more than any of us. Hardly seems like a coincidence that the mudblood that supposedly fell in love with her is the one she inherited it all from. Regardless of her motive, it's still disgusting and she's still a blood traitor."

Tom interrupts their spat, wand twirling between his fingers as he thinks, "Rosier is right. We should not be so quick to judge youthful indiscretions. Merlin knows you each had a few during our school years. Assuming everybody's not wrong, she might be useful."


	2. Curiosity Killed the Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom's interest is peaked, but she's not going to make this easy for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To clarify, the first chapter is set near the end of January 1951, meaning Tom has recently turned 24. The story keeps the same timelines as cannon, so that would mean he has killed his father and grandparents, and opened the chamber and killed Myrtle. He has two horcruxes, the ring and the diary. I believe it's cannon complaint that just having the two hasn't changed him much so far and he's maintained the majority of his sanity/looks, though there will definitely be some mental/emotional instability showing up as an effect of the soul splitting in the story.

When Borgin reveals that what she's asked the store to find for her are merely family heirlooms, Tom cannot help but be disappointed that she hasn't asked for things closer to his own areas of interest, such as cursed objects or rare magical artifacts.

As Borgin explains the circumstances in response to Tom's careful probing, her father had engaged in some speculation during the depression, and the failure of those investments had taken them from well-off at the start of it to bankrupt by the end. They had lost everything they owned in Britain, from the country house to the silverware - most of it sold to Borgin himself before the creditors could come to collect. Her father had then dragged his wife and child back to France, returning to his family's decaying manor there, where Cassandra had spent the rest of her youth before going off to Beauxbatons.

Now she wants them back, those things her father lost in his foolish attempt to prove his worth. She sends a list with descriptions of the items she remembers, filled with jewelry, pocket-watches, chests, china, art and, of course, silverware. She also sends a drawing of the family crest, a purple shield with a silver harpy, with a note that everything will be marked with it. Borgin sifts through the records himself trying to track everything down for the first few days but, after realizing the amount of time it would take, he quickly assigns that task to Tom as well.

Tom is more than happy to take it on, considering his continued curiosity about her. He is a man who likes to know everything. Yet, despite the months worth of newspaper articles on her he has re-read in an attempt to resolve whether she really did it and why, he still does not know the answer to those questions. This bothers him more than he would like. He is eager to see whether she will fall apart under his icy grey eyes once they are alone again, as women tend to. He is eager to try the floo instructions she has sent him, which seem to be merely a codename rather than an actual address.

So he searches the records during nearly every spare moment he has for two weeks, tracking his guesses as to which items were sold where and when and where they might have went after. The first item he finds in person is the silverware in its original chest with the crest. The set looks tarnished but complete. It had been shoved into the attic of the MacDougal's house, so he charms the lady of the house into parting with it for a measly sum. He has Borgin write her to set up an appointment. She answers the same day offering 2 p.m. the next Wednesday.

* * *

Tom checks his appearance in the mirror in his office, spelling a few spots on his cloak clean before he steps into the fireplace. He steps out of the flames gracefully, a windless spell shaking the soot from his clothes as soon as he does. He is about to reach up to fix his hair when he notices her already lounging on a chaise in the corner of the room, a book propped up in one hand, his presence seemingly unnoticed as of yet.

He scans the room quickly, figuring she is waiting for him to announce himself out of politeness. On one side of the fireplace is a series of grand arched windows stuck into a stone wall, offering a view of the edge of a cliff and ebbing water. On the other is a row of bookshelves. Above him is a chandelier. In front of him is a pair of purple velvet upholstered sofas facing each other. It is not a large room, but there is no mistaking it from the architecture or from the craftwork - he is in a castle.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Alexander," Tom greets. He steps toward her and offers the hand that is not holding the chest for a shake.

She takes more than a few seconds to look him over. The idea that perhaps she is here by coincidence and has actually forgotten all about their appointment passes through his head at her disinterested expression. Finally, she stands and, walking past him while ignoring his hand, says, "Thank you for coming, Mr. Riddle."

He follows her out and down a hallway. They end up in a covered courtyard, the pitter-patter of rain on the glass roof above them echoing against the stone. There is a table in the middle, one side set with pastries, desserts, and an espresso pot. She pauses, pouring the espresso into each cup before taking a seat. He sets the chest down on the empty space at the end of the table before taking the other chair. She does not say anything before leaning forward to inspect it, fingers grazing over the embossed logo on the front and checking the quality of the wood.

"May I?" she asks. He takes a sip of his coffee and nods. It is halfway decent compared to the usual over-sweetened tea he is forced to drink during these things. She unbuckles the hinges on the side of the case, opening it only briefly to look over the contents. She settles back into her chair, taking a drink. She looks at him for a second over the top of the cup, eyes holding his, before putting it down and taking a cake from the tray.

"I seem to be at a disadvantage in our business relationship, Mr. Riddle," she says, staring down at the cake as she dissects it into bite-sized pieces. "See, you _do_ know who I am. I'm quite sure you have read the papers. I'm quite sure Borgin would have told you things about me not published in them by this point as well. However, I don't know who you are."

He gives her a small, innocent smile, "I'm just a salesman, Ms. Alexander."

"A salesman who is sharp as they make them?" She questions before spearing a piece of cake and slipping it into her mouth.

"I'm sure Borgin was just flattering me," Tom answers, allowing a charming smirk to spread on to his face. "Though perhaps I should not admit that as I am sure it was in the interest of building your trust in our business relationship."

"No, he wasn't. Borgin is not a nice man, and he's smart enough to know people don't take compliments at face value."

"I did well in school, that's all," Tom replies, not letting his smirk falter. "I am sure you did too."

"I didn't finish school actually. Got in a bit of trouble over a row and - well, I knew enough to take the tests anyway, so I passed those and got married instead of completing the last two years," she responds, still looking down and away from him. He catches her finger twitching and notices her weddings rings are still on her hand. Perhaps she did love the mudblood then, even still. Her eyes suddenly dart up and catch him starting. Her hand slips under the table before she says, "80 galleons?"

"I was going to ask for 110."

"I was being generous. The forks aren't the original ones. They don't even look like real silver. 70."

He can't help but chuckle, "We can get them checked, if you'd like."

"You don't think I know what real silver looks like? That's quite insulting to a woman of my standing, Mr. Riddle. Make that 60."

She wasn't joking about a good fight. Though he didn't understand why she would bother. A few galleons definitely didn't make a difference to her, judging by what Lestrange had said. The boys regularly spend more than this on a few good bottles of whisky. He resists rolling his eyes as he responds, "I apologize, I meant no insult. I'll accept 90 to maintain your goodwill."

"How kind of you," she responds flatly, tone betraying her sarcasm. "In the interest of moving on with my day and yours, 85 will be acceptable."

He just nods in response. She finishes her coffee and stands. Again, he follows her back to the room he had first entered. She motions to the door and then mutters that she's just going to fetch the payment and will be back in a minute.

He steps in and that's when he notices the main feature of the room, which he had missed before by virtue of his position in it - a large wedding portrait of her and the mudblood over the fireplace. She looks barely over 18. Her long hair is pinned up under a multilayered veil attached to a tiara that looks much too showy for someone her age. She is in an intricate dress, a fitted skirt flowing down and trailing too long compared to her height on the ground in front of her, lace covering her arms laying at her sides. He is behind her and off to the side, a hand on her waist, head titled down toward her. It strikes Tom that despite all of the pictures of her in the paper, he has never seen one of the man she supposedly killed. He is more handsome than Tom expected. Dirty blonde hair slicked back, a wide grin, and green eyes full of a look Tom is very familiar with, a look of _want_.

He hears the door open again and turns back to her, "You looked beautiful."

She thrusts the money into his hand before looking up at the painting. Her eyes narrow and she rolls her lower lip between her teeth before muttering, "That wasn't my actual wedding day. I was only 16. It was widely regarded as too early even then. He had the portrait done later. Funny how much better lies look, isn't it?"

He is used to flattery and flirting getting him farther than this, especially with washed-up widows who haven't laid down next to a man in years. He is not used to anyone being so honest and yet somehow so elusive. He steps into the fireplace and floos back to the shop, already unhappy with the level of effort it seems it will take to learn if she is everything she is rumored to be. If she is a gold-digging black widow who might be willing to kill people for him and knows how to get away with it, or if she is just a genuine blood-traitor wrongfully convicted by the public for something she would never have done. What he does not realize at that moment is that things are not so simple - she is not so simple.


	3. Satisfaction Brought It Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The game is on, and Tom thinks he's finally winning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the first two chapters of the story were short, but I just wanted to get things set up to jump to here where the story really starts. I still am not 100% sure if the relationship development makes sense so far, or if I am building up too fast, but hopefully you all like where this is going. Song mood for this chapter if anybody is interested: You Want It Darker.

For a time, Tom is back at the castle what seems like every few days. The first batch of items is easy to track down, and she is easily his most frequent client. He does not mind this because, even though she has maintained a polite shell and they talk about nothing but business and magical theory during his visits, she does pay well. It is easy to get four or five times the price he paid for something from her, even with her negotiating him down significantly from what he initially asks for. Once he realizes the negotiating is just a game to her, he sets the starting price accordingly so she can feel like she won no matter how much she is actually paying. This makes it possible for him to pocket some of it while keeping Borgin more than satisfied with his performance in the job.

He has learned more about her from Lestrange and Rosier than from her, though the questions he can ask them are limited by his need not to appear too curious, and the answers are of questionable utility. All Lestrange will do is toss out vague insults about her. All Rosier will mention is that they all knew each other as children, before her family had to leave Britain, and she was usually forced by her parents to join in on group summer trips with them and the other purebloods even after moving to France. Tom gathers that he must have known her fairly well, but Rosier does not seem to believe she is the same person now and seems more than a little hesitant to talk of who she was then.

Really, the only thing he manages to learn is where this castle of hers is located. He has Avery connect him with an older Slytherin he knew in the Department of Magical Transportation, who helpfully provides him with an actual address for what he only knows as "Alexander House." It turns out its in Croatia. She has apparently bribed somebody to have it connected to the British Floo Network anyway. This is enough of a curiosity itself to keep Tom interested, given that countries on that side of Europe tend to have all of the most interesting dark magic still practiced within them because of the traditionally lax enforcement of international regulations there. He wonders how many of the books on her shelves are ones that would have been banned in Britain long ago.

* * *

Four months. That's how long it has been since they met, four months.

Nobody had ever stuck around for more than three. People tended to find suspected killers a bit unsettling. Sure, there had been the odd person who wrote to her who was weirdly in to that sort of thing. She usually ignored them, and they usually gave up before long. There had even been a few undercover reporters who had tried to weasel their way into her life, writing her claiming to be old school friends or distant relatives. She had fun inventing the most ridiculous stories to tell them, but most decided discerning fact from fiction was not worth the trouble shortly after their first visit.

She had suspected he was strange from the moment he asked for her address. Most people did not volunteer to spend time alone in an unfamiliar place with someone they thought was a murderer. It had gotten to the point where she didn't even bother requesting delivery for anything too large for an owl to carry, tired of hearing the same old stammered excuses from shopkeepers. Hiring help was impossible, of course, and she had never much liked the prospect of a house elf always underfoot, listening to every word she said and watching everything she did. Instead, she personally went to the closest wizarding town to shop every week. Dealing with the stares and sidelong glances was not as bad in a country where the people did not speak her native tongue, if only because she could choose not to translate their whispers in her head if she did not want to know what they meant.

Actually, she had suspected he was strange the moment she saw his face change as he recognized her. The look of interest was familiar. Too familiar for her taste. It was the absence of horror, of fear, of disgust that had surprised her. She'd known, from that moment, that there was something _the same_ about them, though she still had not been able to put a finger on exactly what. A tragic childhood? There is the careful, secret way he tallies the money she gives him and the hint of an accent not nearly as posh as one would expect from a man with his looks. An interest in forbidden magic? There is the look of vexation every time she mentions a book he hasn't read and the choice to work at a shop that specializes in the dark arts. A hidden loneliness? There is the way he lingers over coffee, never the first to bring up business and not in a rush to finish it when she does, and the way he never talks about anything other than work or magic. There are all those things and yet none of them explain this feeling of congruence.

It sounds odd, but she almost does not like actually getting along with someone for a change. It is unsettling, in a way. She almost hopes, each time an appointment of theirs is coming up, that it will be the one he does not show up to - yet, she finds herself letting out a breath each time the fireplace turns momentarily green.

* * *

She is standing in front of the fireplace, waiting for him. It is the beginning of May and the room is stuffy from the fire and the rising temperatures.

They have coffee and pastries in the courtyard, their negotiations preceded by small talk as usual. Their topics of discussion today are which teams will make the quidditch world cup - a sport which it turns out neither of them follow or care about - and a book on new potions theories that has just come out, which turns out to be a much more fruitful topic. They get in to a debate about the utility of asphodel and whether its distribution should be controlled as the book advocates, both arguing no for different reasons.

She moves onto business when they reach a stalemate as to which one of them has a better reason, and they agree on a price for the painting he's brought quickly this time. The money is already in her dress pocket for easy hand off. He gets up to leave, but is stopped when she asks, "I'm sure your employer does not expect you back so quickly. A break to enjoy the nice weather would likely be preferable to standing in a dusty shop. Would you like to join me for a walk along the beach, Mr. Riddle?"

She is alone all of the time, he realizes. Unlike all of the other great manors he has been to, he has not seen a single house elf here. Just her. He does not think she ventures anywhere, except perhaps for necessities, and even those can be delivered without disturbance when one has the kind of money she does. He wonders if he is the only person she speaks to regularly. Certainly, she is still a pariah in England, and she does not seem like the type to have kept up with her old school friends.

He forces a smile. This might be his chance. He nods and says, "I would be happy to take you up on that offer, Ms. Alexander."

She leads them out and along a stone path down to a craggy shoreline, then down a few steps to a thin strip of land next to the water. Small pebbles crunch under his feet and he finds himself looking out at the clear blue-green water. She lives far from any town, and no doubt owns the entire chunk of land around them anyway, so they are the only ones around for who knows how far. The quiet around them and the texture of the air surprises him. It has been ages since he was away from London, from the constant smog and noise and presence of other people. He could kill her here and nobody would know, he realizes. Well, Borgin might know, and he probably would not be happy about losing his best customer.

The novel environment inspires him to take a novel approach to the issue on his mind. He doesn't look over at her, afraid to spook her, as he asks, "So, did you kill him?"

"Now why would I answer that question with anything but a no, Mr. Riddle?" She replies, an uncommon amount of humor in her voice.

"Because you know I won't tell the ministry, and it doesn't matter if I do anyway since they apparently have no evidence against you," he shoots back.

She hums before answering, "Let's say, hypothetically, that someone did want to kill a person, but knew everyone would naturally suspect them for it. How do you think they would do it?"

He wonders if this is a trap. He wonders if she will avoid him if he answers too well. He looks over at her face and knows she is up to something, but not what he fears, so he answers, "Well, it would be best if it looked like a natural death, or at the very least like part of a bigger crime committed by someone else."

"Like a blood clot in the lungs," she says, low and steady. They could be discussing how many sugars is the proper amount for a cup of tea, not how to plan a murder, for all of the emotion in her tone.

"But whatever chemical or curse caused it would have to be undetectable," he muses.

"Or would have to trigger an effect that took place slowly enough that the chemical would have time to leave the bloodstream before anyone would have reason to detect it."

"Which creates another problem if this hypothetical killer lives with the person - explaining why they weren't there or didn't help."

"So they book a social engagement for the night. Something they can't control the date of and don't have significant advanced notice for so it looks like they couldn't have planned ahead to arrange everything. Something with just enough people that it doesn't seem like everyone could be lying, but not so many that it is a conspicuous coincidence," she responds, stopping and turning out to face the water.

"But if this hypothetical killer gets asked to submit themselves to questioning by the ministry despite the unlikely circumstances, there are ways the ministry can get the truth out of them, aren't there? Legilimency?"

Of course, he knows he has already tried that on her and nothing came of it. The fact that she didn't seem to notice or visibly fight back attests to the strength of her defenses, and he does not imagine her occlumency abilities would have been significantly weaker then.

"An unreliable, fickle art and one easy to resist if a person has been subjected to it often enough," she answers. She leans down and picks up a handful of rocks from the ground, shaking them in her hand as she rises. She starts tossing them out on to the water, watching as they skip.

"Veritaserum? Surely taking an antidote would be noticed," Tom fires back. He finds himself copying her, trading off on throws.

"An antidote isn't necessary if a person has built up an immunity."

"But that would take years, wouldn't it? That's a lot of advance planning."

"Not if their overly controlling parents had already been subjecting them to it for years," she answers, a particularly fast throw launching a pebble far out into the water with a splash.

He had heard of steps some parents took to ensure their bloodline remained pure, but he had never heard of that. He keeps going despite the scowl on her face, "Memory extraction? One could tamper with them of course, but such tampering would leave a trace that could be detected. And obviously getting rid of them would only increase any impression of guilt."

"Unless any flaws in one's memories could be explained naturally. Such as falling down a flight of stairs while rushing to apparate to your beloved husband's deathbed."

The way she said beloved was what convinced him. There was a bitterness to it of the level that he'd only ever felt toward his own father, that he'd never thought others were capable of. Now he knows she can kill, can do it easily and secretly and without regret, unlike anybody else he has met. All that is left is to find out if they have the same reasons as well as the same tendencies. Nevertheless, he does not break the silence by asking, judging correctly that if she wanted to tell him that part she would have.

"Now that we've finished talking hypotheticals, let me answer your question, Mr. Riddle. _Of course_ I did not kill my husband. Unfortunately, people sometimes die tragic deaths before their time," she says, turning to him with a smile suddenly plastered on her face. "It's so nice out, I think I will go for a swim. You remember the way back up to the castle, don't you? Please do write again when you have something new to offer."

He does not have time to answer before she starts unbuttoning the front of her dress, pulling it off to reveal a simple black swimsuit. He cannot help watching her as she saunters into the water. He is still a man, after all, and she is still beautiful. She looks at him over her shoulder and their eyes meet for the first time since they'd started their conversation. He realizes the entire thing was a test. A test to see when he would leave, when he would judge her, whether she could scare him off. He wonders if he is the first person she tried to tell or just the first to pass.

"Can I join you? I don't have anymore appointments today anyway. " He calls out, surprising her even more than himself judging by the way her eyebrows furrow. The sun and the quiet and the clear water are pleasant and he does not want to leave yet. He tells himself he is still worming his way into her good graces - into her mind - and this is just another step toward that. He seems to have her trust, finally. Perhaps she is even naive enough enough to think they are friends. He almost laughs at the idea, her thinking he's her only friend.

"If you'd like. I wouldn't bother to stop you," she responds nonchalantly.

He strips off his robes, watching her out of the corner of his eye to see if she's watching. She isn't even facing him, which irks him because if there's one actually useful thing he inherited from his filthy father it's his good looks. People typically pay them more mind than this.

He leaves only his boxers on as he wades into the water, his eyes slipping closed as it envelops him. This is the first time since Hogwarts that he's gone into water like this, and wadding into the frigid Great Lake for the traditional end of the year dip had never been comfortable. He stops before his feet leave the water, suddenly realizing he may have forgotten the necessary movements for staying afloat that he'd taught himself in the prefect's bath years and years ago.

He hears the water splashing around him and opens his eyes to see her on his right, floating on her back.

"How'd you do that?" He barks out, snapping his head to her. His unhappiness at his own insecurity is showing in his tone, showing in how the childhood accent he'd practiced out of himself comes flaring back. He has made a mistake getting in. He does not know how to do this. Tom does not like not knowing things, and he likes it even less when other people show off that they do.

If she notices his anger, she does not react to it. Instead, she says, "Just kick out and onto your back."

He tries but does not get up far enough and feels even sillier. Maybe he will murder her after all. If she loves floating so much, her body can float forever. She does not laugh, at least. The boys would have laughed.

"You have to relax first. Try to just slowly lean back," she says softly. This time he gets up and stays for a second before sinking back down. His face scrunches in frustration. She lets her legs fall and walks up next to him as he tries again. He feels her hands on his back and chest. "Relax. Breath. Use your muscles. Kick back and… there you go, now keep breathing deeply. You need to kick your legs every now and then to stay up."

Her arms drop away from him and for a second he wants to reach out and grab her, tell her not to leave, but he reminds himself that is silly and he can do this by himself. He can do anything by himself. He feels weightless, as if he has left his body and transcended to another plane. He is not sure if he likes this. He wonders if this is how the other parts of his soul feel trapped in their own little voids. The water ripples next to him as she lays out on her back again.

"Do you do this everyday?" He asks snidely. He does not like anybody being better than him at anything.

"Yes. I am so lucky my social calendar allows it," she answers with a sarcastic laugh. Her self-depreciation is enough to calm him.

Silence stretches between them for a few minutes before he decides to take another chance, "Why did you tell me?"

"I didn't tell you anything, Mr. Riddle. All we discussed is a theory. A hypothetical story about hypothetical people."

"Call me Tom," he instructs. He doesn't like it either, but if she insists on addressing him by his name, he would rather have it be that one.

She stays silent for a minute more before answering, "In France, there were times when all that was on the table was a loaf of bread and margarine. Not even butter. We had to sell the house-elf, and my mother didn't know how to cook or garden. The bread was awful."

So she'd noticed things about him and pieced together his childhood, just as he'd done to her. She thought he would understand. And he does, if that's the reason. He remembers such times at the orphanage, especially with the war rationing. He knows what hunger can make a person do. He remembers stealing sweets from the other children because they were the only thing Ms. Cole wouldn't hoard for herself. During especially bad times, he would sneak out to the local bakeries to knick a loaf of fresh bread or, if he was feeling luxurious, a croissant.

If the money was all she wanted and she'd gotten it, it certainly would explain why she killed him. The trouble is he's not sure that _is_ the reason, or at least not the only reason, because there is still a wedding ring glimmering on her finger and a last name that isn't hers on her letters. Perhaps she'd kept them because she thought riding herself of even a trace of him would only arouse even more suspicion. Perhaps she'd kept them because she had loved him once. If she's repented for her mistake and changed her mind, she can still be useful to him - but Lestrange is right, once a blood-traitor, always a blood-traitor, and he will never be able to trust her with his real plans.

It is too early to trust her anyway, Tom reminds himself. He will need to think of some additional ways to test her, to see how much pureblood remains in her, before he even entertains the idea of telling her anything at all.

When he doesn't respond she huffs and kicks her legs back down to the sea floor, "I am not telling you anything else about myself, Riddle. It's unfair at this point, and I don't like playing on uneven ground."

He catches that word, _playing_ , and nearly laughs. They are not children, and he is not playing at anything.

This time his hand does shoot out and grab her as she tries to swim away, fingers enveloping her wrist and pulling her back. He doesn't usually discuss this sort of thing with people, but he thinks it might be helpful to now, thinks maybe mimicking her newfound vulnerability is exactly what he needs to encourage this openness to continue.

"I said call me Tom," he says gruffly. "Don't leave. I'm not a very good swimmer."

"If only there was a spell to transfer knowledge," she mumbles while dunking her hair back in the water. Now there is an idea. It would certainly speed up his learning of the dark arts if he could have his followers do all of his experiments for him and then simply instantly acquire all of the lessons they had learned.

"It could be an application of legilimency, I suppose, if one was very good at it," he answers, unable to help himself. It is the only thing he really enjoys - exploring magic, pushing its limits - and he enjoys discussing it with people who are good at it. He supposes he does not know if she is really good at it, because he realizes he has never seen her do magic. They have only talked about it.

"Like legilimency but voluntary and precise."

"And quick. Looking through memories to learn things at the moment one really needs to know them would take too long to sort out. It has to be quick, like apparation. Apparating thoughts except they don't move, they just duplicate themselves."

"That could be approximated by a legilimency connection. The other person already knows what memories they have and can select ones to show. If they could interact to explain what is happening in the memory, it would be efficient. Essentially communicating past memories and past thoughts at the same time."

"We could try it now," he suggests.

"You are going mad if you think I am going to let you in to my mind," she chides.

"I promise not to wander," he responds with a smirk. He won't now, but being in once does make it easier. Maybe if her defenses ever come down again he can revive the connection. "You can always toss me out if I do."

"No," she says sternly, moving to turn away. Her arm rips out of his wrist as she pushes back, vaulting further away from the shore. He ignores his better instincts and goes after her.

"Tom!" She yelps as he grabs her shoulders, pushing her down. Her arms come up and land on his chest in her panic to keep them both above water, "You wanker, you said you can barely swim and now you're trying to drown me too."

"Teach me then," he challenges.

"For the record, fuck you," she responds. She bites her lip and her eyes slip closed.

He thinks the spell and feels her defenses falling until he is let in, splashing in to a pool. She has replaced her adolescent self, but there is a group of other children around them. He is in her head, inhabiting the same space in the memory. The other children look six or seven but she has purposefully focused only on the instructor, leaving them blurry and unrecognizable. The lessons pass by in a few seconds in their minds before he is snapped back out and feels himself controlling his limbs almost effortlessly.

"Polite young women don't use such words, you know," he comments.

"I'm so very sorry if I hurt your feelings," she bites back, drifting a few feet away. "I also probably saved you from voluntarily drowning yourself, but I would understand if that's not enough to make up for it."

"I think you did that just so you wouldn't get another murder pinned on you," he teases back.

"Well there's still a chance, isn't there? Very brave of you, being all alone with a killer out in the middle of nowhere," she replies, only half-joking. She shrugs, "Who knows what my motive is. I could just hate men."

"I think I could take you," he responds, also only half-joking. She just smiles at him and swims farther out until she decides to stop and float on her back again. He watches her staring up at the sky and wonders whether she would hate him if she knew.

Underneath the water, he runs his fingers over the rings in his palm. He had slipped them off of her as she'd been flailing around. He lets them drop to the bottom of the sea before walking back up to the shore. He does a drying spell before getting dressed again. The sun is starting to set, and he has things to do.

She rises from the sea soon and does the same. They walk back to the house debating the best books on legilimency for follow-up research, multiple of which she just happens to be able to pull from her library. Tom wonders where this library is and when he will get the chance to see it. Maybe she will ask him to stay for dinner and he can divert them there afterward.

His jaw tightens when he sees the familiar door to the sitting room. He finds himself glaring at the fireplace as she opens the floo powder jar on the mantle and offers it to him. He is so close. He can find ten other witches who would ask him to stay for dinner and more after a five minute conversation. People try this hard for him, not the other way around.

"I will see you next time, Tom?" she asks.

Her voice snaps him out of his trance. He forces his most charming smile and responds genially, "Of course, Ms. Alexander."

"Cassandra."

"What?"

"My first name is Cassandra," she reminds him, a smirk on the corner of her lips displaying how proud she is of ruffling him. He wonders for a minute what she would have done if he had destroyed the rings in front of her.

"Of course. I will write you soon, Cassandra," he says politely as he steps into the fireplace yet again. It is dark in London and, instead of setting off for home, Tom heads in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron.


	4. Actions Speak Louder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even a future Dark Lord makes mistakes, and this one's going to cost him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is super long. I did not mean for it to be so long, but I also didn't really see a great cut-off point so here it is. Pretty much every major character and relationship this story will involve is all laid out in it, so now we can really get the ball rolling. But I'm curious what people think, and to be honest it is a bit discouraging not to get any feedback. Maybe the Tom Riddle fic boat just sunk after the HP series ended, though personally I am still obsessed with his crazy.
> 
> After reading this chapter, do you have a favorite character? Favorite pairing? I think what I am most worried about is - does Tom's state of mind come across in a way that's not OOC?

Tom rubs the invitation between his fingers, the soft cotton bending to his touch. It is the perfect test, he thinks. A way to gauge her convictions disguised as a garden party. Rosier couldn't have thought of anything better if Tom had actually asked him to come up with something. He knows she is lonely - she won't turn down what looks like a chance to be reaccepted into society unless it is a society which she does not want to be in. Would she show up and rub shoulders with her former friends and acquaintances, or did she still reject the pureblood lifestyle?

Tom turns the paper over and simply writes: _Invite Mrs. Alexander._ He uses the shop's owl to send it to Rosier, since he doesn't keep one himself.

The next day is a particularly dull one at the shop until he receives a response from Rosier confirming that his parents have sent an invitation to her. He opens one of the display cases near the back of the store, drawing out a sparkling silver box with a purple harpy embossed on the left side. Tom had first noticed the box when a customer had tried to purchase it a few weeks ago. He'd felt the symbol when he'd gone to pull it out of the case and refused to sell it. From then on, he'd kept it tucked away here to have an excuse ready for just such an occasion as this one.

He writes her, but it takes a week for him to receive a response. This is already unusual, because she usually replies the next day, but he does not think much of it until he opens the envelope. She has set the meeting for 10 a.m. Wednesday and told him to respond only if he cannot make that time. They always meet at 2 p.m. She is always his last appointment of the day. She is probably just preoccupied with something else. Tom does not know _what_ that could be, given the way she lives, but perhaps there is a magical experiment or an errand or some repairs on the castle filing her calendar. The letter crumbles and cracks as he lights it aflame, watching the ashes fall onto the counter before picking up his quill and writing his own letters to reschedule his other Wednesday meetings for later in the week.

* * *

When Tom floos into the sitting room of her castle, he is surprised to find it empty. Not only of her, but also of all of the furniture that had been there on his previous visits. His urge to explore the house unsupervised is thwarted the second he steps out of the fireplace and hears the ding of a bell go off as his foot crosses the threshold. Looks like his arrival cannot be kept under wraps after all.

"I will be there in a minute," she calls. From the direction of her voice, Tom knows she must be in a room not far north of this one. He decides that this is as good of an opportunity as any to see a bit more of the place, so he wanders out of the double doors and up the hall until he finds a door that is ajar. His foot nudges it open all of the way before he steps inside to find it is a study.

She is on the top rung of a ladder, checking the spines of books before magically floating them down to a set of boxes labelled alphabetically on the ground. He takes a few more steps forward and whips out his wand. Without thinking, he casts a charm that makes the books effortlessly float down and arrange themselves in to the waiting box correctly, something he had learned while volunteering at the Hogwarts library in order to get secret access to the restricted section.

She turns, glaring down at him with a look that is pure rage. Her mouth is puckered, no doubt in an effort to force some harsh admonition she has in mind to die on her tongue. He thinks she is about to spit it out anyway, but she just turns back around and climbs down the ladder. By the time she meets his eyes again, she is on the ground looking up at him and she is wearing a polite, perfectly convincing smile. He makes a mental note not to trust her facial expressions.

"Thank you, Mr. Riddle. However, I did not invite you here to assist with my housekeeping. There's coffee in the courtyard if you will please follow me."

Tom walks beside her, acting unfazed despite her sideways glances at him. She seems to decide it is not worth breaking the silence she so enjoys to admonish him regarding the meaning of the word _follow_. He breaks it anyway.

"Doing a late spring cleaning?" He asks nonchalantly. He knows something is wrong. Something is not going to plan. First the letter, then his last name, now her distance.

"Moving," she replies as she takes a seat at the table. She adds, "It seems this residence is no longer as private as I prefer it to be."

The invitation. He'd given Rosier her address. He hadn't remembered that technically even he shouldn't know it. He suspects her actually sharing this bit of information is a pointed choice, given that he can't imagine she has many other visitors. A silly oversight on his part perhaps, but there are other things that explain how an owl can find someone even without the owner's knowledge of their location. It would be illogical for her to jump to blaming him so quickly, given that she doesn't even know of their connection.

He takes the other chair, "I see. I will let Borgin know we are expecting an update from you regarding a new address."

"Actually, please let him know I will be coming to the store directly for future appointments. I appreciate Borgin making his time available to me, of course."

He doesn't let his anger slip out as he deduces what she means is she does not want to deal with him anymore. Cursing her would not be the most effective way to keep his job, after all. His smile tightens as he hisses, "Of course, Mrs. Alexander. I will pass on the message."

He takes the box out of his briefcase and places it, wrapped in a purple cloth he had transfigured to match the color of the symbol, on the table before her. She picks it up and delicately skims her fingers across the metal.

"How much did Borgin demand you get for this one?"

"150 galleons."

"That's ridiculous. It's just a trinket."

From the way her pupils expanded while looking at it, he doubts this is truly how she feels. In reality, Borgin had said to ask for just 20 - but what would his reputation in the store be if he couldn't get more? He picks up his cup and leans back in the chair casually, "A trinket with your family symbol on it."

"A trinket nonetheless. Hardly large enough to hold a few jewels. 50 galleons."

"Do you want to get me fired?" he responds with a chuckle. Her eyes dart up to him and he realizes that this little quip that usually goes over so well with other customers is not the right thing to say given the context. She suspects he told someone where she lives, _of course_ she wants to get him fired. He pretends he does not see the answer in her eyes and moves the conversation forward, "100 galleons."

She loses interest in him again, and seemingly in the box too. She puts it back down on the cloth and picks up her own cup before saying, "You attended Hogwarts, correct?"

"Yes."

"Do you know Cain Rosier? I imagine he must have been around your year."

"Yes," Tom responds again. He decides not to add on more, seeing as any omission he might make regarding their relationship would likely be viewed by her as a very suspicious lie. She already seems suspicious enough.

"Do you happen to know if he is married yet?"

"No, he is not."

"Seeing anyone perhaps?"

Tom swallows another sip of his drink before answering, "I don't believe he is."

"Our families used to summer together. He was always very… charming," she responds, a faint smile playing on her lips.

"I'm sure many of our fellow pupils felt the same," he replies rather than giving away any of his own opinions. _I_ am the one everyone called charming, Tom thinks. He catches the thought floating through his head and squishes it.

"Then I am sure his family's upcoming garden party will be very well attended. Will you be making an appearance?"

"Oh, yes, that. I was asked by someone, but have not had the opportunity to reply to her yet," Tom answers with a smirk. Easy enough to manufacture a date, and much less likely to confirm her reasons for asking for Borgin instead of him than admitting he had his own invitation. He'll have to tell Rosier to bring a date too.

"Perhaps we will see each other there then," she responds with a too wide smile as she places her cup down in front of her. "Thank you for humoring my curiosity. 80 galleons."

"Fine. I will convince Borgin it was a good deal for a loyal customer."

"Much appreciated," she says as she stands. He really shouldn't have bothered to reschedule his other appointments. He follows her lead back in to the castle and down the hallway. She stops before pushing the door to her study open, turning to say something to him.

Before she can get a chance to shoo him away to wait for her in the sitting room, he speaks up, "Perhaps you would be kind enough to allow me to browse your collection for a few moments? Reading is a favorite pastime of mine, as you know."

He knows it would be rude of her to decline such a small, seemingly innocuous request. She simply nods her head and moves to open the door. While she walks toward her desk, he bolts for the shelves, looking to see if there is anything worth nicking left on them. To his disappointment, her books are hazardously organized, different languages and subjects all jumbled together. He finally stops walking when he sees a title that mentions dark arts, about to pull it out when her voice almost makes him jump.

"This is my current favorite," she says, a finger resting briefly against the spine of a book a few to the left of the one he had been eyeing. She is standing next to him, her left side leaned up against the shelf, so close her hand almost touches his chest as she moves it away from the book again. He wonders if she has softened again now that she has gotten the chance to throw a fit over his perceived betrayal or if she just guessed what he is up to and come to stop it.

He pulls the book she had pointed at off the shelf out of curiosity, thumbing through it quickly. _I Capture the Castle_. He almost expects it to be about chess. It isn't.

"Your favorite book is a muggle novel?" he sneers.

"Is there something wrong with that?" she retorts, raising an eyebrow.

He thinks that yes, there is something very wrong with a pureblood witch who chooses to waste her time on such uselessness. When he has his way, people who love mudbloods or think that muggles and their ways have any merit won't exist. Still, even in his followers, even driven by what they believed, he had never seen the level of magical knowledge and power she had. She could be valuable to him - if he knew what she believed, if he could change it - but she is no less a mystery to him than the day they met. He wonders if she even knows her own mind.

He can see her watching his face for any response, feel her looking into his eyes as if she will somehow be able to read what he is thinking despite his formidable defenses. If this is bait, he won't take it. He puts the book back into its place and turns to face her before he answers, "Unusual, that's all."

Her hand reaches past him and what seems like only a second later she is holding something out to him. He can see her arms extend toward him out of his peripheral vision, but he does not feel like looking down. She is close enough for him to smell her, he realizes. Roses, coffee grounds, leather bound notebooks. He feels like her blood, her true and pure and magical blood, is singing to him.

He steps forward, his hands coming up to reach for her hips. She lets what she is holding go, dropping it into them, before turnings around and walking toward the exist. After shaking his head to shake off what can only be described as a trance, he looks down. The book he had been looking at is sitting in his hands, the book she had pointed out below it. With the money on top of both, of course. He tucks them under his arm and takes one more breath before catching up with her.

She opens the floo powder jar on the mantle and offers it to him. That polite smile is again plastered on her face as she says, "Thank you, Mr. Riddle. Pleasure doing business with you, as always. Do remember to tell Borgin my message, please."

He considers snapping at her right there. Telling her that no, he will not share her message, because he is not going to let her turn away from him. She is going to stay here, where he can find here, and she is never going to try to refuse him his visits again. The order rings in his head but all he does is nod and step into the green of the fireplace.

He likes figuring things out. He is going to figure her out. He knows there is something in her, something he wants, something that will help him achieve his vision, and he will harness it - harness her - by whatever means necessary.

* * *

When Cain Rosier sees her walking through the crowd, it is as if time stops. She does not look so different, not really. He keeps nodding and humming along to whatever boring story his father's friend is telling him about some time in his long-ago youth while watching her. Watching the way the crowd parts around her. Watching how they stare and whisper after her. Watching as she maintains her polite composure despite the constant rejection, a smile on her face and her eyes wide, almost begging for someone to offer to speak to her.

But she is not broken enough to beg, or to impose herself where she is not wanted, so she ends up standing on the banks of the river past all of the tents and other guests, just staring down at the water and fiddling with her sundress.

Cain excuses himself as soon as he can do so without offending, orders a house elf to fetch him two drinks, and then saunters over while thinking about one of the last times they really spoke, nearly ten years ago now.

* * *

_Flashback: August 1942_

He is sitting on a bar stool in the kitchen, waiting for her. It is late, and he doesn't think it's really his place, but someone has to say something before this becomes a scandal. She slips in through the side door, smelling of ocean air and looking as if she's just gone for a run. Her eyes scan him quickly, noting the half-empty glass of firewhisky in front of him.

"Good evening," she greets him. She pours two glasses of water from the sink before turning back to lean on the other side of the kitchen island, pushing one toward him. "I thought everyone would have gone to bed by now. I couldn't sleep so I just went out for a wa -"

He cuts off the lie she is about to tell with his own gruff voice, "You have to stop seeing him, Cass."

She looks taken aback for a minute before her face transitions back to a fake smile, "I don't know what you are talking about, Cain."

"Alexander," he mumbles, eyes moving back down to stare at the dark liquid he is sloshing around in his hand. "You know what will happen once the others find out."

"Well they won't find out if nobody tells them," she replies, the edge of a threat in her voice.

"Oh please. Nobody needs to tell them, they've got eyes and they can see what is happening. I saw the way he looks at you. I saw the extravagant things you are suddenly wearing. I saw you sneaking out every night. It was easy enough to do the math. You don't think they will soon too, if they haven't already?"

She is silent for a minute, and when she speaks again her voice is barely above a whisper, "It's just a fling. Youthful frivolity. It's nothing."

"It's not nothing," he growls before pausing to take another sip to keep his courage up. "You know what Lestrange will do if he finds out. I mean, you are practically like his sister. If he hears that filthy creature tricked you into letting him lay hands on you -"

She is the one to cut him off now, voice hard, "He didn't trick me into anything, Cain. And we are just talking."

"Bollocks. I can see it on your face, what you've been doing with him. I am sure it is pleasant enough and all the presents are nice, but remember who you are. Remember who he is."

"If I didn't know you were above such things, from your words I would assume you are accusing me of being either so stupid or so desperate I could be convinced into whoring myself out for a few trinkets."

"I don't see what else you could see in someone like him," he sneers. He pauses at the wounded look on her face - but as soon as she opens her mouth, he realizes he does not want to hear her reply, so he continues talking instead, "There are plenty of purebloods for you, Cass."

She actually laughs quickly before responding, "There are not _plenty_ of purebloods. And everyone knows there are more female descendants than male ones in our generation, especially with the war on."

"You are beautiful, Cass. Someone will want to marry you."

"It doesn't matter if they want to, does it? My parents might be delusional enough to hope that's the case, but it's not. It matters if their parents think my dowry is good enough, which we both know it is not."

"It will be, by the time you're 18. Your father will get back the money."

She scoffs, "Under my father's management we will somehow be even poorer by the time I am 18. So what are my options then? The prominent families like your family, the Blacks, and the Malfoys aren't in need of enhancing the good looks of their offspring, so I have nothing to offer them. Perhaps I'll fall in love with a son from one of the lesser families, where the competition is not so stiff, and they will be willing to spend all their saved up galleons for me. At best, perhaps Lestrange will be kind enough to offer me a sham marriage. It's the only decent exchange I can think of that would be beneficial for both sides - I get an English manor and he gets a pretty wife more than happy to lie to protect him."

"You might be the most magically talented person I know, but not even true seers can predict the future with that much accuracy. Don't ruin your chances by being foolish now and getting a reputation."

"It's not a prediction. It's the way things work," she sighs. "I thought you were my friend, Cain. But what you are asking me to do is choose between staying poor all my life or never being in love. That's it, that's all there is for me?"

The glass in his hand slams back down onto the table as he snorts out, "You are not actually entertaining the idea that you are in love with him, are you?"

Her face goes red and she leans forward against the granite, her head falling into her hands. She whispers, "I don't love him. Of course I don't love him, I barely know him. I'm just saying I could maybe -"

"Don't say that," he barks. "He's a fucking _mudblood._ And you are not. There is no maybe. Maybe is enough for them to take everything you do have left and every chance at a future away from you. There is just no."

She remains still and quiet for a few minutes. Finally, she sweeps her hair back over her shoulder and looks up at him, "It's just a summer. It doesn't mean anything."

"Stop seeing him or Lestrange and I will have to take care of this issue ourselves."

"Merlin, Cain. I know your aunt is with Grindelwald but would _you_ really do that?"

"Break it off. Sooner rather than later," he proclaims. She bites her lip and looks down again. He reaches over, tilting her chin back up with a finger. "I'm only watching out for you, Cass."

"I don't want to be a shiny, pretty little thing everyone pities for the rest of my life."

"You won't be. But if people find out about this, they will hate you," he says. He tilts his head, motioning for her to come over to the other side of the island. She does and he pulls her in by the hand until she is standing between his legs. He reaches a hand up and flicks the large sapphire pendant hanging from her neck, "Give this back too, would you? I'll get you something nicer."

"You don't hate me?" She half whispers, a hand out against his shoulder.

His hands tighten around her waist. She maintains that cool little smile and that way of avoiding his eyes by looking off to the side that tells him she is ignoring it, ignoring _him_ again. He murmurs, "Course not. It was just a mistake, right? Un faux pas sans conséquence? Ne t'en fais pas."

* * *

The squashing of the wet grass under his feet is what gets her attention. She looks up at him and her wide eyes are caramel voids he could still lose himself in for eternity. A wide smile spreads onto her face for a second, the genuineness of it surprising him, before she remembers herself and it shrinks.

"Good afternoon," he says, not knowing what else to say. He knows what he wants to say, of course. _Fuck you for lying. Fuck you for leaving. Fuck you for choosing him._ But it all sounds too harsh and he cannot bring himself to say it.

"Good afternoon, Cain… That sounds too informal now, doesn't it? Good afternoon, Mr. Rosier."

"Might as well be informal, because I am not calling you by a mudblood's name," he spits. She blushes bright red and looks away from him. His attention turns to her neck when she turns her head away, her hair falling to the side. The black opal pendant he gave her that summer is glimmering in the sunlight, and he knows wearing it was a choice.

"Do you hate me yet?"

"Of course not. I could never hate you."

"You could. They all do."

"It'll die down."

"It's been three years and it hasn't died down one bit."

"Because hiding only made it more of mystery and kept fueling the rumors. Just show some repentance. Most will find a reason to excuse you, then they'll get tired of the gossip and move on."

"Is that why you invited me - so I could show some repentance?"

"I missed you, Cassandra," he says. It isn't a real answer, but it is really how he feels.

"I missed you too, Cain," she sighs. "But if you think I am going to ask for anyone's forgiveness, you don't remember who I am."

"Admittedly, I was hoping you'd at least try to get mine."

"Admittedly, I was hoping you'd just give it to me."

He looks over at her again. She is hiding it well behind a composed facade, but he can tell from the downward tilt at the corners of her lips and the tension in her hands that she is having a hard time with this. It has never been like her to apologize or explain herself. Much like someone else he knows, he thinks wryly.

"I will, for today," he answers. They lapse into silence for a few seconds before he steps closer to her and, in a faux whisper, jokes, "You know, I think half of them are just jealous of your dress."

"Oh, this old thing?" she says coyly, fluttering the fabric with her hand.

He laughs, "Don't pretend you didn't have it made for this."

"How did you know?" she asks, faking a frown.

"Its red," he says with a smirk. "You normally never wear red, but you like the pun too…"

He falls silent as he notices Evelyn Greengrass approaching the bank. Evelyn speaks up, a scowl on her face, "One of our friends wants to speak with you, Rosier."

He smiles at Cassandra, an apology on his face because they both know words would be unwise when they can be overheard. She simply nods slightly and turns toward the water again. He is led off to the makeshift bar set up under a tent, where he sees Lestrange sitting at the center table with the rest of them, standing in for the role of the king of the court as usual when Tom's not around.

"You asked to speak with me?" Cain asks, watching as one of their little minions rushes to stand up to make a chair available for him. For the life of him, he can't remember the bloke's name to say a thank you. It turns out he does not need to, because Lestrange just stands and grabs his arm, pulling him to the corner.

"Stop _that_ ," Lestrange hisses.

"Tom told me to -"

"Tom told you to invite her, not to talk to her."

"She was standing alone and I didn't want her to leave before he arrived."

"Sure. Look, we both know how that turned out last time and what it did to you. Best not to have a repeat, right?"

"As I said, I am just keeping her company until Tom arrives."

"They're both psychopaths, Cain. You don't want to get in the middle of that."

"I don't need your advice, Roland."

"It's not advice, it's a warning. She's trouble. If you give her the chance she's just going to fuck you up again."

"I know."

"Yet you can't resist, can you?" Roland growls. When Cain's face remains stoic, he sighs. "If you insist on not listening to me anyway, go ahead. Go make sure the little bird doesn't fly away before the fox arrives."

* * *

The Saturday of the Rosier garden party Burke makes Tom stay late to finish the monthly inventory. Tom curses the old man as he hurries to pull on his dress robes once he is home. Despite the fact that he arrives over an hour late, Vivian Snyde is still waiting patiently for him at the entrance to Diagon Alley, ever the loyal follower. He apparates them to the familiar golden gates of the Rosier country manor.

They circle around the party for some time, Tom making sure to say a few silver-tongued words to anybody important while he still has his pureblood prize on his arm fawning over him. It is good to show people one is liked by the right sort of people, and Tom knows he is more than liked by Vivian.

He does not see her until he rounds the corner around the greenhouse. He stops in his tracks. There are games spread out in the grassy area between it and the river, and she is playing boules. She rolls the ball, watching as it strays miserably far from the target, then turns to her partner to laugh at some remark he's made. Her hand lands on the boy's arm as she laughs. The boy steps closer to her.

Vivian looks toward him as he wrenches her arm forward with him. Her voice is timid as she speaks, "If you don't mind, I would like to get some ref…"

"Wait," he hisses.

"Yes, my lord," she whispers. He knows from her tone how fearsome the look on his face must be. He slips on a neutral expression before he reaches them.

"Rosier. Apologies for interrupting your game, but would you kindly be a wonderful host and show Vivian where the refreshments tables are?"

Tom sees Rosier's eyes linger on her for a second. Sees his lips twitch with the urge to be defiant. If he dares to point out that Tom and Vivian must have walked past the refreshments area to get all the way back here, Tom will make sure such impulses are punished. Rosier seems to remember this, because he turns and simply says, "Of course."

"Thank you. I hope to have the chance to catch up with you and Greengrass shortly."

"I will be sure to bring her by," he answers with a smile before taking Vivian's arm and leading her away.

They stand in silence for a second before Tom thinks of something to say. His head seems clearer all of a sudden. He magics the balls back to their side of the field, resetting the game in starting position and stepping forward to pick one up. He lobs it across the play area as he asks, "Are you enjoying the party?"

"Surprisingly, yes. Rosier is perhaps more charming than I remember," she answers, throwing her own ball. It rolls too far again. She does not turn to him and laugh like that. Both of their eyes remain fixed on the target across the grass.

"Yes, men can be very charming when they want something, can't they?" he retorts, nearly flinching at how snide he sounds. He is supposed to be trying to get back on her good side, he reminds himself.

"Is that why you are always a perfect gentlemen?" she returns. He almost rolls his eyes at her implication. How ridiculous of her to assume that he'd want _that_. That was what boys like Rosier wanted. He wanted so much more. She continues as she throws the next ball, "Just to be able to brag to Borgin about the high prices you get?"

He throws his last ball before saying, "Perhaps I am actually just a perfect gentlemen."

She balances hers in her hand as she speaks up again, "I am not daft, you know. Rosier and Greengrass make a handsome couple. And, unlike me, she isn't drawing the gossip of everyone here. It was foolish of him to even play with me, really. I am sure he's going to get a good verbal thrashing about it later from his parents. They probably only invited me to bring up their attendance numbers. Who from British _or_ French pureblood high society could resist seeing their very own blood-traitor black widow in person to judge her guilt for themselves, regardless of what they view as my crime? Speaking of, you should probably flee before people think you are being anything more than polite by playing a game with me. Enjoy the party."

Her ball goes tumbling from her hand, stopping just short of the target. She moves to walk away.

Little does she knows he has already been spreading rumors that she'd only married the mudblood in the first place because he'd placed her under an imperius curse to get her to run away with him. Her reputation is far from secure, but it improving - at least among those who can overlook a little bit of revenge murder and the coincidence of a large fortune falling into her hands when all was said and done.

He reaches out to grab her arm, "Rematch?"

A smile almost flashes on to her face before she stops herself, "Just one."

She waves her hand and the balls roll back to them. He smirks, even as he sees curious heads turning back to look at them. Perhaps this is a semblance of forgiveness.

By the time Rosier returns about half an hour later, they are tied 2-2 and nearly done with their fifth game. Rosier ignores Tom's disapproving gaze as he elects to stand beside her and hands her a drink, "I thought you might be in need of some refreshment as well. Snyde and Greengrass have gone off to fix their hair with some other ladies. My apologies Tom, I promise I will track them down for us later."

Tom does not roll his last ball, leaving the game unfinished. He does not really fancy the possibility of losing, nor of giving her the upper ground by allowing her an excuse to end their interaction. He forces a smile toward Rosier as he says, "I suppose we will just have to introduce her to some of our fellow male Slytherins instead then. Come."

He puts a hand on her arm, pulling her toward him. He had seen some of the group retreating to the shade of the old oak tree by the river earlier. When he tries to walk forward, she pulls away, "I think I have encumbered you two long enough for today. I can find a way to entertain myself. Please, feel free to enjoy the rest of the party with your friends."

He wants to growl at her. Nobody defies him like this - nobody their age, at least. Rosier seems to see the way Tom's fingers tighten around his wand inside his robe pocket, because before the situation can escalate, he steps forward and says, "It's really no bother. You are delightful company. I am sure the pleasure of meeting you can only enhance our friends' enjoyment of the day."

If she bothered to read Rosier's eyes, she'd know he was begging her to offer her arm to Tom again. It would be better for both of them if she would show partiality to him, especially in front of everyone.

Instead, she simply smiles back at them, "Thank you for your kind words. But I really do not wish to burden you two, and I am sure you would enjoying catching up with your old school friends more without my intrusion."

Rosier does not have time to interject before Tom's voice rings out, a harsh authority she has not heard it in before underlying his words, "Don't be silly. We invited you and you are coming. There is no need to try to outdo us with politeness, or attempt to save our reputations by sparing us your company."

"Truthfully, I am tired, and I would prefer…"

"No, you are not. Stop trying to run away."

The _from me_ at the end is implied by the way he steps forward, taking her arm again. His hold is too tight for her to pull away without pain this time, so she hisses, "Let go of me."

"You are being ungrateful," he hisses.

"Ungrateful? As if you are saving me from something. More like holding me hos…" she mutters as she tries to step away from him.

He cuts her off, "I am saving you from something. Do you want everyone to continue shunning you? Or do you want people to see that you are being accepted by respectable people?"

She is silent. He knows as much as she tries to hide it, she does not like being hated and she does not want to be alone. Hers may be a self-imposed exile, but it is not one she enjoys.

"Wonderful," he says, face morphing back in to a smile that does not reach his eyes. He steps toward her again. "Shall we?"

The walk along the river's shore to the tree is tense. Tom is still burning inside, with disbelief at her for disobeying him and with himself for reacting like that. She is still fuming too, itching to burn the skin off his hand for touching her like that but knowing that he is right. It is the wiser choice not to as he is the one doing her a favor. Rosier follows just far enough behind Tom to ensure he is out of his sight. He watches as Tom pull her ever closer and closer as they near their destination.

Tom is the one to introduce her when they finally meet up with the others, "Gentlemen, Ms. Cassandra Malecrit."

Only Lestrange is brave enough to raise an eyebrow at the use of her maiden name. He must have had more than his share of refreshments already, because he speaks up first, eyes lingering over, "Hey Cass. Been a while."

"My name is Cassandra," she chides.

"But that's what Cain used to call you when we were children, isn't it? Cass. Personally, I like the symmetry. Cain and Cass. Cass and Cain," Lestrange responds, a smirk about to erupt into a chuckle on his lips. Rosier shoots him a glare from behind Tom's back. Sadistic twat.

"We aren't children anymore, are we Lestrange? It's Malecrit to you."

"Thought it was Alexander? That's what it says on your bank statements, isn't it?"

"And what does it say on your bank statements? Or do those still go to mummy and daddy instead?" she bites back. Tom is sure that if he wasn't holding her in place she'd have cursed Lestrange already.

Lestrange is standing up now, "Isn't it unfortunate that not all of us can be self-made. Hell of a way to make your fortune, ki…"

"Enough, Lestrange," Tom snaps. "You can speak again when you've sobered up."

Tom sees her narrow her eyes at him in his peripheral vision. So she's noticed the orders, then. He needs to start acting like these buffoons are his friends again before any explanations spring up in her head. He needs to be the perfect gentlemen again before she writes Borgin a letter herself.


	5. Deal With the Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luckily, Tom Riddle makes sure he never loses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's mood song if anybody's interested - Used to Be My Girl by The Last Shadow Puppets. TBH, might discontinue this story soon due to lack of interest... It's just super hard for me to write without feedback personally, and I am having a really hard time with school and everything being online now. Thank you everyone for reading so far!

After the last war, wizarding supremacy was not exactly advocated for often, though the idea remained strongly and secretly popular among those in the halls of power. Pureblood supremacy was an even more touchy subject. Tom knew an outright revolution would be unlikely to succeed in such an environment, so he resorted to planning a slow, silent shift. It had taken five years to set everything up, but at this point he felt himself well on his way to tipping the balance of wizarding society back to where it should be.

It had started with quidditch. After graduating and starting to put his plans to slowly change the wizarding world in to motion, Tom had found that not every ministry official could be convinced to support such measures purely for the sake of ideals, despite the vast majority of them being purebloods. Not all of them had been raised to believe so fervently in pureblood supremacy, especially those whose families hadn't really benefited from it in the past. But Tom could not achieve everything he wanted with just the support of the pureblood elite who surrounded him, so he had to make some compromises. For the most part, blackmailing officials or placing them under the imperius curse was too risky to do in any significant numbers. Fortunately, almost everyone was entirely self-interested no matter how lofty their speeches, and taking a little bribery was an accepted, if not expected, part of the profession. Unfortunately, the starting salary of a shop assistant was not quite enough to accomplish this at the scale Tom needed, and he was loathe to ask his followers for too much help.

Tom had heard of bookmakers before. He had even occasionally ran money for the local ones while at the orphanage. And what was the wizarding world's equivalent of horse racing and boxing matches? Quidditch. It was easy enough, setting up the network. Given the difficulty of getting decent work in the wizarding world for anyone who wasn't a pureblood lucky enough to inherit a position in the ministry or smart enough to do extremely well on the placement exams, there were plenty of young wizards like himself out there looking to supplement their income. He got in touch with a few of them who had graduated Hogwarts with him and had them start collecting bets in front of the stadiums and at neighborhood pubs. Decent money, but not good enough. The next step was obvious: start paying off the players to perform badly. Especially the mudblood ones. They were just quidditch players. They didn't connect the dots and realize the pattern. For Tom this sporting interest was truly a winning arrangement - he got the money he needed to move his plans forward, and he diminished the public image of mudbloods in one of the only areas of the wizarding world they had been allowed to excel in.

That had been enough for the first two years or so, but as he and the circle of his closest followers kept recruiting new Slytherin graduates to assist with their mission, the expanding scope of his operations made new sources of funding necessary. There were the bribes to ministry officials to help shape laws in their favor, the costs of running propaganda publishing outfits to shift public opinion, the donations to charities to make purebloods and halfbloods indebted to them and raise them up into proper voting citizens. And, of course, all the parties and events that Tom and his pureblood elite friends had to throw in order to maintain the admiration and hopefulness of those below them, to keep them entranced with the decedent image of a wizarding world free of mudbloods, where anybody with the proper ancestry could live like them - in theory.

As things kept growing, his first expansion had been into the potions trade. Illegal potions, or at least highly dangerous and taboo ones that were hard to brew and made of controlled ingredients, more specifically. He had set up a brewing hub once he had perfected the recipes for each product himself. After automating the process further through enchanted cauldrons and measuring vials, the company required few enough wizards to run it that it generated strong profits to be used toward his other activities. Still, the expenses began to outpace the profits as his goals grew.

His second expansion had been into the breading of controlled magical creatures. It wasn't Tom's fault that some wizards were stupid enough to want dangerous beasts such as dragons, manticores, and erklings. He was just taking advantage of it, as it was by far one of the most lucrative enterprises to engage in due to the danger involved in raising such creatures. This enterprise was the only one he personally oversaw, going to visit the site where the creatures were born and raised in rural Lincolnshire once or twice a month to make sure proper precautions were taken both to ensure the operation remained undetected and to ensure the animals remained in good enough health to fetch top prices.

At this rate, he expected to be able to run for office himself very soon. Another two or three years, he figured. So far, he had mostly played his role in the background, relying on his closest followers to be the public face of his ideas and the others to be the soldiers spreading them. It would soon be time to claim his rightful place. The humble former head boy, a working man who dedicated what little he had to public works, inspired by a big event - which he planned to occur soon, of course - to step up and channel the public sentiment against the muggles into actions that would improve wizarding society forever. It is a role he is more than ready to play.

All this to say Tom doesn't need her money or her help, but he _wants_ it, and he is not giving up now. Six fucking months is more than he spent on Rockwood and Karkaroff combined, for Merlin's sake. Plus, her murder planning is clearly flawless, and he needs someone else with experience to double check his plans.

Which is why he feels a pang of excitement pass through him when Bathilda Bagshot, while trying to pry information out of Tom about Cassandra's appearance at the garden party during their appointment, pulls out a signed first-edition of _Hélas, Je me suis Transfiguré Les Pieds_. He knows Cassandra will want this, a reminder of her most prominent ancestor. He offers a price he knows is too high for it.

When Bagshot still hesitates, he explains, "Ms. Malecrit is a client of the shop. I am sure, with your academic interests, you know how much an object from one's family history can mean to a person, Bathilda."

He is leaning forward in his chair, smiling at her. His voice is as sweet as honey and, when he says her name, his grey eyes sparkle at her.

She blushes and mutters, "Yes… I suppose… horrible thing, her family's manor catching fire and everything she had left being lost to it… I suppose I don't have any use for the book anyway."

Tom scrawls out a letter to her as soon as he gets back to the shop, bidding her to tell him when she will be coming by to inspect the book.

* * *

He comes back from a call on that horrid Smith woman to find Borgin standing at the shop counter, counting out coins from a pouch. He recognizes the monogram on it as hers.

"I apologize that appointment took so long. I hope the store wasn't too busy while I was gone," Tom says to him as he walks up to stand on the other side of the counter, hoping to peak over at the ledger to see when she'd come. She must not have owled the store beforehand to set a time, or he would have been the one to receive the letter first.

"No. Only Mrs. Alexander stopped in. Paid a handsome sum for some old book. You did a good job with that one, setting the prices high. Merlin knows she can afford it," Borgin offers, the greedy grin on his face not yet faded.

"Thank you, sir," Tom says with a forced smile as he watches the old man write the time of the sale in the ledger. Only twenty minutes ago. "Shame I missed her, it would have been nice to say hello. To maintain the relationship, of course."

"You might still be able to catch her," Borgin says, barely looking up. "She mentioned she was stopping in for tea in Diagon Alley. I can watch the shop a bit longer."

Tom nods, almost forgetting to mutter a thank you, before rushing out toward Rosa Lee Teabag. Twenty minutes. How long did tea take? What did she mean tea, anyway? She didn't drink afternoon tea, or at least she hadn't once offered it when he'd come for appointments. Always coffee. If she was just stopping in to buy tea, surely she'd be gone by now. The walk would most likely be pointless, but at least he'd have a break from the store.

There is one table in the entire shop occupied. As soon as he sees by who, his arm goes for his wand, leaving the door to slam behind him. Everyone looks up, startled, and when he sees her eyeing him he knows he can't, not here.

He forces himself to relax before saying, "Mrs. Alexander. Hello. I just got back and Borgin wanted me to come make sure all of your needs were currently being met."

"It is kind of him to worry, but I wouldn't have left the store if I had any more business to attend to there today," she says, the normal polite smile on her face despite the fact that her eyes are glaring daggers at him for the interruption.

"Just making sure. You are a very important client to him," Tom replies, taking a few steps closer and matching her expression.

"I will be sure to communicate how much I appreciate his diligence as well as yours when I see him next. Thank you."

"I would very much appreciate notice of your future appointments. So that I can ensure I am available to assist Borgin in meeting all of your requests as quickly as possible."

"I don't think that will be necessary. One man is more than enough to respond to any requests I have."

"Perhaps not necessary, but surely still beneficial."

"I'm afraid I can't see how…"

He cuts her off, tired of pretending, "Well, I work there and I can. Write me before you come to Diagon Alley."

Her glare sharpens and the smile almost drops as she huffs, "I am too old to need a chaperone for my trips to Diagon Alley, Mr. Riddle."

"I meant before you come to Diagon Alley to go to the store, of course."

"If you insist," she responds with a wry smirk at him. If others were not there, if he didn't have to control himself around her, he would slam her back against the wall and ask what silly little way to avoid him she has thought of now. "If you don't mind, I would like to return to my meeting."

"Of course. My apologies for the interruption, Rosier."

Rosier looks up at him and nods his acknowledgment. To his credit, the boy is obviously trying not to show he is afraid. Tom wonders briefly if it is for Rosier's own benefit, so she won't know he is a coward, or if it is for his - so she won't know what Tom does to them. Either way, it is impressive how still his face is given what Tom had done to Lestrange after she'd left the party.

Tom turns toward the door, lingering just long enough to hear excuses about how he has to get back to the ministry tumbling from Rosier's lips. Tom chuckles under his breath as the door closes behind him.

* * *

He finds out what she meant by " _if you insist_ " three weeks later, when he walks in to Borgin's office to ask him about the price of something only to find him packing up thirty minutes early.

"Mrs. Alexander is insisting on meeting at _my_ house now. Apparently she can no longer be bothered to be seen out in public long enough to slip in to the store," Borgin mutters. "Ridiculous woman. If she didn't have such an extensive list of pieces she was looking for she would hardly be worth the effort."

Tom does not think being in public is the problem, because he's heard the others whispering about the places Rosier has been spotted with her. Apparently, he has quite the extravagant taste in dates. Given that Tom's plan rests on her being alone and lonely, this is something Tom does not appreciate. Two _crucio_ sessions already and the idiotic boy still thinks he can sneak around behind Tom's back.

"I can come with you, sir," Tom offers. "I can handle the business so you can retire with your family. It will probably be quick anyway. Hardly worth your skills."

Borgin assesses him for a second before answering, "Yes, that sounds like a good solution. It's a necklace this time. Make sure you get at least 80 for it."

Even she cannot hide her frown when he is the one who walks into the office in Borgin's house, though she quickly covers it up with the usual polite smile, "Good evening, Mr. Riddle. I was hoping your boss would be available. Makes the negotiating a bit easier, you see."

He does not take the seat behind the desk. Instead, he spells the other chair around to face her. Once he sits, he responds with, "He was the one to send me, so it should be easy enough."

Even he cannot fake their pleasantries today. He is mad at her, enraged at how she's attempted to avoid him. People play along when he wants something. It makes everything so much easier, the way people bend over backwards to please him. Now he sees how hard it can be with someone who refuses to. Maybe she is more trouble than she is worth. Luckily, he can be more insistent here, with no one watching. He will try one last time to put her in her place - and if she still won't bend, he'll just have to break her.

She does not allow the smile to drop from her face at his shortness. He places the necklace directly in her lap, splayed out against a simple grey box. She touches the jewels, checking each one.

His eyes dart up from her hands to her neck when he sees a flash of something there. When she raises her face to him and straightens up again, he sees what had caught his eye - a simple necklace with one charm, a single silver rose. It is when he sees that necklace that he realizes he wants more than just her help or her service.

Breaking it is then.

"I can do 150."

"Too bad Borgin priced it at 400."

"200."

"350. It could easily sell to someone else for twice that, being one of a kind and all."

"300. It's all I brought, so if Borgin really priced it at 400 he can try his luck elsewhere," she counters, already reaching for her purse on the chair next to her.

"Wouldn't you like to try it on first?" he asks, forcing a smile.

"I hadn't realized that was an option."

"He'll take 300, but don't you want to make sure you want to pay that much first?"

"Fine, I suppose it can't hurt."

How wrong she is. She pulls it from the box and fumbles with the clasp for only the briefest second before Tom jumps up, "Allow me to assist."

He sees her swallow, but she does not protest. Instead, she stands and turns her back to him, sweeping her hair aside to reveal the clasp. He takes the two silver sides from her hands, which immediately drop down in front of her - but he does not move to clasp them together yet.

"You probably think it was clever of you to interpret my words so literally," he hisses in her ear. He is almost pressed against her. She is trapped. If she steps forward, she will be choked by the necklace pulled tight against her throat. Besides, there's nowhere to go with the chair only centimeters in front of her, blocking her path, there for her to fall into if she tries to push away despite the pressure on her neck.

"My decision to meet here has nothing to do with you," she says nonchalantly. If he couldn't hear how shallow her breathing is, he would almost believe she is actually relaxed. "I was simply tired of facing the gawping public every time I went out to Diagon Alley."

"I only remember one person gawping at you last time you were there. I'd hardly call that the public," he fires back. He has to restrain himself from pulling the chain tighter around her neck. Marks would raise questions. "And what about our private appointments? Didn't you enjoy them? I have never had any complaints."

"I do not have any complaints about the appointments. What I do have complaints about is you telling your friends where I live."

He chuckles. He feels her shiver as his breath passes by her skin, "I only told Rosier and I would venture to guess he would know where you live by now regardless."

"It is rude to accuse a lady of such things."

"If you don't want to be accused of it, you shouldn't let him fawn over you in public," he replies. His nimble fingers pinch the strands of the necklace in one hand, his other freeing itself to reach forward and pull at the thin chain around her neck. "If you don't want people to think you are his whore, you shouldn't wear his symbol around your neck."

She bites her lip from the pain as he pulls on it, not allowing herself to yell. Still, the whimper that escapes from her throat as he feels the chain snap apart and fall into his hands is delicious.

"Give that back," she says through gritted teeth.

"No," he responds. He holds his palm flat in front of her and focuses on the piece of metal in it, watching as it shatters into nothing but dust - making her watch. "Don't you dare put another one of those roses against your skin again."

"You can't tell me what to do," she huffs.

"Perhaps I can't. But I can do that to every single one I see you wearing until you see the futility of disobeying me."

She actually laughs, "You are assuming you will see me again after this. I don't think that will be happening."

"Yes, it will. It will be happening as long as you want your precious family heirlooms."

"I'll tell Borgin I will only meet with him personally."

"Then I'll convince him to let me come along. You cannot escape me."

"You wouldn't do it - this - in front of him."

"Rest assured that I would find a way. You know that I would, don't you?"

Her breath seems to hitch in her throat before she answers, "Yes."

"So you see that all these efforts to avoid me are pointless. A waste of your energy and mine. I will find a way. I will always find a way, no matter what you try. It would be simplest for us both if we returned to our prior appointments."

"Stop whatever you are doing to Rosier."

"I am afraid I don't have a clue what you mean."

"Come off it, I can see the way he looks at you."

"Still, I am afraid I don't have a clue what you mean."

"You scare him. You scare all of them, but him the most."

"I don't think I am in control of how Rosier feels."

"You can control whatever you are doing - threatening him or whatever it is - to make him feel that way. Stop."

"No."

"Then no."

"People don't say no to me."

"Is that what Rosier did to draw your ire?"

"In a way."

"In what way?"

"You don't need to know."

"I think I do, seeing as it seems to have something to do with me. Are you disappointed one of your _friends_ isn't making a more favorable match for you to benefit from? Afraid that if people hear it was more than friendly kindness he showed to me, they'll start gossiping about him too?"

"Do you think that just because you know it would serve the both of you better to stop seeing each other, _Cass_?"

"Don't call me that."

"Why not? Is it reserved for him?"

"I don't like it when you call me that, _Mr. Riddle_."

"I will call you what I want to call you, Cass. And you will call me Tom," he orders. "Let's say, hypothetically, I did feel that you seeing Rosier was not in his best interest. What do you think I would do to discourage him from the temptation?"

She shrugs, "Some curse."

"What curse, Cass?"

"I don't know. Something that hurts."

"You do know _._ What would you do?"

"The cruciatus curse."

"That's very painful, isn't it? Some say painful enough to drive a man mad if you aren't careful. It's good that I am careful in everything I do," he hisses. "How does that make you feel, imagining Rosier twitching on the floor, screaming, in more pain than one can even process?"

She does not answer. Her jaw is locked and her hands are balled into fists. It's a good thing his hand is so close to her throat to keep her aware of how things will go if she tries to fight back.

"Does it make you feel anything, Cass?" He asks again. She does not seem to trust her words, because the only answer she gives is a shake of her head. He clasps the necklace together behind her, but does not step back. "No? Your Cain, crying, begging, being ripped apart by the pain - nothing?"

"He is not my Cain."

"Are you only saying that so I will stop hurting him, Cass?"

"No. I am saying that because people don't _belong_ to other people," she responds, voice full of confidence again. "Funny thing though. Your little attempt to scare me did just make me realize something. All these dusty old things that belonged to my family - to people who only ever hurt me - why should I care about them? In the same way Cain would honestly probably be better off without me, I would probably be better off without them. Please do tell Borgin I enjoyed doing business with him, but I have found other priorities. Namely, staying away from you, Mr. Riddle."

He sees she is about to move away from him and clamps his hands down hard on her hips, forcing her to stay in place. She is sure there will be bruises in place of his fingers tomorrow. He hisses, "Fine, little harpy. You can have your deal. Our appointments resume, and I won't bother Rosier for seeing you."

"How generous," she responds, voice dripping in sarcasm. She looks at him over her shoulder, sporting a forced smile, "We have a deal. Kindly take your hands off me, Tom."


	6. Two to Tango

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winning doesn't feel the way Tom expects it will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Welcome to the room of people who have rooms of people that they loved one day, docked away. Just because we check the guns at the door, doesn't mean our brains will change from hand grenades." - Heathens, Twenty One Pilots

A month and a half passes, and Tom sets a pattern. A standing appointment, if you will. Wednesdays at 3 p.m. he floos to her new home, her family manor. It is little like the castle she left because of him. One wing has burnt out. Another has crumbled, bare daylight passing through the gaps in the walls and roofs on to the faded tile and stone floors. The rest of the place is barely any less shabby, just dust and peeling wallpaper.

He steps out of the fireplace and wanders until he finds her. She is standing outside part of the south wing, waving her wand to orchestrate an array of stones and other materials as they assemble themselves to fill the patches in the walls.

"I would offer to help, but you don't invite me here to assist with your housekeeping," he calls with a smirk, leaning against the doorframe.

"I don't really invite you here at all, do I?" She mutters back under her breath before affixing her face with that polite smile yet again, "Hello, Tom. What happened to being a proper guest and staying in the sitting room?"

He shrugs, "You weren't there."

"You are early," she responds, dropping her wand and allowing the materials to crash to the grassy ground. He always is, no doubt an excuse to poke around where he doesn't belong and she doesn't want him. "If you still find the price we discussed last week for this one acceptable, I will take you back to wait with some coffee while I fetch it."

"Fetch the money and hide something else, right? Or did you already take it off?"

"I don't have a clue what are you referring to."

"There's a photograph of you in the Prophet. Apparently they just caught wind of your relationship with Rosier."

They hadn't just caught wind of it. He'd been telling the editor he paid off there not to publish the previous stories for weeks. After seeing this latest one, he thought perhaps she could do with some public embarrassment. Shame too, her disobeying him. He had thought they were just starting to get on again.

He catches her roll her eyes before she responds while walking toward him, "Yes, some people do love to pry in to other people's private lives."

Her hands are clasped behind her back as she walks, of course. He does not move from the doorway. She tries to squeeze past him only for him to grab her arm and pull it forward, along with the rest of her. He wonders if her skin is always this warm or if its some kind of attempt at a curse to inspire him to let go. Unluckily for her, his skin is always cold anyway.

Not there. She must have slipped it off while she was talking. He ignores her glare up at him as he orders, "Give it to me."

"No. That wasn't part of our deal."

"Why do you always insist on being difficult, _Cass_?" he hisses. He sees her other arm move for her wand. "Don't think of trying to curse me. First, it won't work. Second, whatever spell you try to use on me I will use on him."

"It's just a ring I liked. No roses."

"Hand it over, little harpy."

"It isn't -"

"He gave it to you, didn't he?"

"This is not part of the deal."

"Yes, it is. I told you not to wear anything like it again before we made our deal."

She reaches up to her ponytail and pulls it out of the folds of the ribbon holding her hair together. She practically throws it into his waiting palm and he glares at the gold circle of thorns. She hisses, "I wish I had never met you."

"Don't say that. Without me you never would have reunited with your darling Cain," he responds with a smirk.

He levitates the ring in midair and burns it down to molten metal, watching it drip on to the grass before letting go of her arm. She pulls away from him and fixes her dress, then starts walking to her study. He follows. When they enter the study, she goes to her desk and he goes to wander among the shelves, as usual.

"You really ought to organize these better," he calls as she slams the drawer with her coin purse shut.

"I already know where everything is," she responds, voice floating toward him.

"Yes, but I don't," he says.

"I would be more concerned about that if I had ever actually given you permission to borrow whatever you like, as you always seem to," she says, standing at the end of the aisle now. "Middle shelf, third row, on the left with the gold spine has some interesting theories. The potion's ready if you want to try it out."

She had been brewing a memory potion for them to try with the legilimency. He had asked her, trying to be casual, if she'd actually ever done any of the reading on it they'd discussed on his first visit after their little entente. She had answered that she'd done some, which had sparked another conversation on it, which had led to them exchanging the notes they had been taking, then discussing it again the second visit.

They had tried to apply their research during the third visit. Of course, she'd been the one whose memories got jumped into again, because he refused to let anyone else into his head. It had been tennis, oddly enough, that she'd chosen to teach him. As a teenager, she had used magic to make herself a court out on the south lawn and spelled the balls to bounce back to her so she could have games alone. They'd actually gone and tried it out for a bit after, and found that the memory teaching had worked well enough. The trouble was the memories had gotten hazy after a while, so she'd come up with the idea of taking a memory potion to prolong the amount of time they could stay focused.

She goes back to sit behind her desk and he joins her on the chair across. Two vials are already sitting there. She downs one quickly. He sniffs the other to make sure it is what she claims before taking it.

"Speaking of potions, have you ever brewed a Volubilis Potion?" she asks as she skims her notes from the previous weeks.

"No, and that's fine," he responds. He doesn't really care to learn it - from what he knows it is a silly little trick used in practical jokes, and not particularly difficult - but it's better than him having to teach her something.

He is in her head and they are nearly at the end of the lesson when a roar comes from above them. She loses focus and snaps back into the real memory itself, control over it slipping as she shifts back to sixteen. She is pulled through the French doors at the end of the room and onto a balcony. He is pulled with her. Before he knows it all he can hear is the buzz of planes and all he can see is a town on fire off to the distance, below the hilltop wherever they are is perched on. She is holding her wand up and frantically muttering spells. The sky above them is crackling red as she triggers the bombs in midair and blows the debris away before it can crash through the ceiling. Finally, she manages to get a magical shield to hold over the house, shimmering as it deflects the bombs still dropping on them. He can hear a man yelling somewhere else in the house and then the thump of footsteps behind them.

She tries to pull out of the memory before they can turn around to see the newest development in it - but the bombs are still whizzing in his head and instead they rebound into his memories. To a teenage Tom Riddle cowering under his rickety orphanage desk, lanky body barely able to fit. He knows exactly what day it is. August 24, 1940. He is holding his wand but he doesn't dare use it because if he does he knows he will trigger the trace and, given how much Dumbledore hates him, he is sure they will take away his magic forever if he does. He needs to go back to Hogwarts. He has to convince Dippet not to make him leave again.

She pushes her way out of his head, sensing this is not a moment he wants to share, but he is still _stuck_. He is spiraling and he can barely breath and he can't seem to leave no matter how much he tries. Then he feels something trying to pull him out - her hand tugging on his.

He opens his eyes and lets out a deep breath.

She rushes to say, "I'm sorry, I forgot we were at that house…"

He tries to open his mouth but can't. It's as if the room around him isn't real. The roars of the planes and the whizzing of the bombs are still reverberating in his ears. He squeezes her hand tighter, trying to make something feel more real more than that, but his vision is blocked by flashes of red.

She leans forward and puts a hand against his cheek. His eyes are still glossed over, and she can tell he is still _there_ in his thoughts. She knows what that is like, because she has been there in some form or another for years. She nearly whispers, "It's not real anymore. It's the past. Just bad memories and bad dreams. It's never going to happen again. Not to you."

He locks eyes with her and focuses on copying the rise and fall of her chest. She is still whispering the same thing to him again and again quietly. In. One, two, three, four. Out. One, two, three, four. In. Out. In. The world comes back to him in a rush of roses, coffee grounds, and leather bound notebooks as she leans in closer.

She tries to pull her hand away but he holds onto her and whispers back, "Not to us."

The hint of a smile tugs at her lips before she suppresses it again. He doesn't know if she really doesn't hate him or if she just forgets she does when they are exploring magic together. Merlin knows most people who he blackmails aren't exactly big fans of him.

It is almost as if he can see her remembering why he is here and what he had done only thirty minutes or so ago as her expression changes. She drops as far away from him as she can but he still does not let go.

He suddenly wishes that he hadn't done it, but then he remembers that all he had done was destroy something that wanker shouldn't have dared give her in the first place. It's not really Tom's fault, is it? It's _his_.

He pulls his hand back into his lap. She shoves the money toward him and stands, ready to walk him back to the fireplace.

"I do have something else for you," he speaks up before she can move away. He takes the book out of his robe pocket and holds it out to her. "Advanced manuscript of the second edition. Bagshot thought my feedback might be helpful."

She sinks back down in her chair, eyeing the copy of _The History of Magic_ in his hand the entire time. She reaches out for it and he clicks his tongue, pulling away, "I need you to do something for me. Just brewing a potion. It will require some… tinkering to get right."

"Fine," she replies, gaze shifting back up toward him.

"Do you still wish you hadn't met me?" he asks once they have locked eyes again.

"Is my answer going to make a difference?"

"I need to know I can trust you, Cassandra."

"You can trust me because I know you will check any potion I brew before using it, and we both know what the consequences of your dissatisfaction would be."

"I _want_ to be able to trust you, Cassandra."

"Yes, and I _want_ to spend my Wednesdays doing something else, Tom. We don't always get what we want, do we?"

"I do."

"If you want me to say no, you should probably stop being such a prick."

"Language, little harpy."

She laughs as she glares at him. She makes a split second decision to reveal the things she has deduced, spitting out, "What are you giving the photographer at the prophet? So I know how big of a bribe I need to offer to have him focus on something else."

"I have no clue what you are talking about, Cassandra."

"Fine, I'll just sabotage his broom."

"Now that's not very nice, is it? The bloke is just trying to do his job."

"You have something on more than one of them, then. Nice to know."

"I am just a salesman, Cassandra."

"Bollocks, _Tom_. You want to trust me, then trust me. Don't send reporters around to follow me and don't have my boyfriend write you everything I say on our dates. Just tell me what you want and let's play the game, one-on-one."

He puts the book down on the table, choosing to ignore her all-too-accurate accusations, "The draft ingredients list and instructions are in there. As I said, it might need some tweaking."

"Just leave him out of it, would you?"

"If I left him out of it, would I be here?"

"If you weren't such a prick in the first place, probably."

He has had enough of her indignation and insults. He leans back into his chair as he decides to reveal something he noticed in return, "You know what's interesting? When I asked you if imagining him in pain made you feel anything and you said no, you _meant_ that. The only thing you feel bad about is being blamed for it again, isn't it? You don't care if he's hurt, you just don't want the guilt of being the one that hurts him again. Some of the things he did in sixth year make a lot more sense in light of…"

She cuts him off, snapping, "You might have been inside my head, but that doesn't mean you know my heart."

"I know you, Cassandra. We're the same," he retorts. He stops to laugh at her facial expression. "You hate that but you know it's true, don't you? You've known it's true since that day on the beach."

"Is that it then, why you are so insistent on being a presence in my life?"

"You'll know that when I think you are ready to."

"Too bad I don't trust you either."

"Are you going to brew the fucking potion or not?"

"Language, Tom," she says with a snicker. She is already looking over the instructions he scrawled. "Yes, I will. It will take longer than a week to get through all of the stages, though, as I am sure you are aware. Not to mention researching beforehand and coming up with several formulas to try. I will see you in four -"

"I will give you two weeks to get started. We can discuss your progress then."

She fakes that polite smile up at him again. It is still one less day that she has to see him, though still infinitely more days than she wishes to. "Right."

* * *

She buys the Prophet. The entire Prophet. It's under some company, of course. She buys off some legitimate former wizard reporter to head that company so even the ministry won't know or suspect, but he _knows_. He knows because it's the only thing his contacts there won't send him copies of anymore. When he asks for the old photographs they insist they don't have them, even though they do and he knows it.

There's always Witch Weekly, and convincing them to run a piece hardly requires money, so really she's saved him some. Plus, her owning the Prophet could be useful eventually.

He has Rosier tell him where they will be Saturday and charms one of the girls, a few years younger than him at Hogwarts, to write about it.

When the pictures come back, Tom tears them to pieces. These are not some pictures of them leaving the restaurant holding hands like a few weeks ago, or even kissing on the stoop of it like the ones he had ordered published. They are fucking in a fucking alley for fucks sake.

He sends the torn remains to her with a short note: _What would you have told him if I'd had them publish these?_

He gets an even shorter one back, complete with the pictures spelled back together: _If you're so curious, do._

He rips them up again and doesn't send them anywhere this time.

He pulls Rosier aside after the next meeting. The boy is nervous, still thinking he'll start getting punished for seeing her again any minute now.

"No more letters," he orders.

"If you don't want me to see her again, I'm afraid I can't agree…"

He cuts him off gruffly, "I didn't say not to see her. No more letters."

"Yes, my lord," Cain responds with a bow of his head.

"There's a gala this weekend for the education fund. Bring her around."

"She has said she would prefer not to attend a large event again."

"I said bring her around, Rosier. I'm sure you can find some way to convince her."

"Yes, my lord."

* * *

They arrive halfway through the cocktail hour with Rosier visibly mussed. In his head, Tom swears that if he gets another set of pictures of them acting indecently in public he's going to have them published no matter what. When they walk up to the group, Tom is not the only one with a disapproving look on his face.

"Good evening, everyone," Rosier mumbles with a lopsided smile.

When no one responds - probably all waiting to see if Tom will say anything first - Cassandra raises an eyebrow at them and asks with mock concern, "What's wrong? Are we not allowed to have fun yet, Tom?"

Rosier actually dares to snort out a laugh before Tom glares at him. He stands up straight, pulling his arm off her waist. He is suddenly very focused on fixing his robes.

"Looks like you two are having a bit too much fun already," Lestrange mutters.

"You're one to talk, aren't you Lestrange?" she quips.

"Cassandra," Tom starts, a warning evident in his tone. "So nice to see you again. Let's try for a proper hello to everyone else, shall we?"

She forces the same polite smile she always starts their meetings with on to her face and turns to the others. Her voice is artificially sweet as she says, "Hello Avery, Mulciber, Nott. I am _so_ glad we have this opportunity to get to know each other better. I would be _so_ honored if you would introduce me to your dates. And your's too, of course, Tom."

From the looks on their faces, half of them are still trying to understand why she's calling him Tom while the other half are trying not to laugh. Rosier is in neither group, face completely blank to avoid any further scrutiny.

Avery is the first to volunteer, "Cassandra Malecrit, Constance Selwyn. Ms. Selwyn works with me in the Wizengamot Administration Services."

Cassandra flashes what seems like a real smile at the blond woman. Tom sees through it, but of course the rest of them haven't seen her full range of talent yet. She bubbles, "Your job must be very interesting, Ms. Selwyn. It would be lovely to hear more about it later."

The routine repeats itself with Mulciber's date, Vesta Carrow. Cassandra compliments her dress, which results in a visible glow on Vesta - she is not the type most people call pretty, let alone most people that look like Cassandra. Then on to Nott's date, Grace Parkinson, who Cassandra already knows is on the board of the charity, so she immediately gushes about how beautiful the event's decorations are, earning a smug smile from Grace.

Tom is smirking when she turns back to him. He just waves at his date and declares, "Melody Fawley."

Of course she has heard of the Fawley family. Melody's father was the one whose flamboyant speeches against her, in his attempts to hoist himself back up from Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to Minister for Magic, had put her on the front pages in the first place. The public outrage had not been for his own good in the end, taking both him and Spencer-Moon down when they were voted out of office for not being able to secure a trial let alone a conviction, but Tom was still sure there was no love lost between her and any member of the Fawley family.

"Pleased to make your acquittance, Ms. Fawley," she replies, smile stiffer than before and no compliment coming gushing out this time. She's also gone even paler, Tom notices. "I'm going to fetch another drink before dinner."

Tom almost laughs as she turns to leave, until she takes the hand Rosier offers her and lets him be the one to lead her away.

* * *

"It's just his idea of a joke," Cain murmers, leaning in until he is almost close enough for their heads to touch. They are standing against the railing of the mezzanine. If he were being honest, he would tell her he doesn't want to be here any more than she does right now - but then he'd probably have to be honest about why they are here in the first place.

"I think everyone would agree it's a mean one," she retorts. She still does not turn her head, biting her lip as she glares down at the crowd below. "Are the tables already assigned?"

"Yes, I think so."

"I think I'll leave now then."

"Cass, come on. They'll all be busy eating anyway. No one will bother you."

"I'm not sitting next to that prick."

"He's not so bad," he implores. She laughs. "It's just a badly judged joke, Cass. You two are still getting along well in your dealings with the store, aren't you?"

"Yes. As I've said, he's normally a perfect gentlemen," she replies with a forced smile. She does not want him to worry. "Doesn't mean I'm sitting next to them for this entire dinner, though."

"He hasn't done anything, has he, Cass?"

"Of course not. What would he do, Cain?"

"I'll sit next to him if we have to," he declares.

She resists rolling her eyes. Like Tom's going to let _that_ happen. Still, she turns to see the look on his face and it's so earnest that she can't help but smile, "I'll stay."

"How long has it been since you've been to something like this?"

"I think the last one was your sixteenth birthday ball, actually. It was grand. I was always so jealous of that."

"What, my mother's party planning skills?"

"No. How much your parents care about you being happy," she replies. "Anyway, I'm only staying because I want to dance with you. You were always so hilariously awful at dancing."

"I wasn't awful. I was just nervous."

"You think I am going to believe that excuse? What could have made the ridiculously overconfident teenage Cain Rosier nervous?"

He laughs, a hand coming up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, "You."

"Do I still make you nervous?" she teases.

"Sometimes."

Her hand comes up to meet his and she threads her fingers through his, "Then we better find a way to resolve that before we start dancing tonight, or I'll never believe you are actually any good at it."

He leans forward to kiss her. He has lost count of the number of times he has kissed her since they reunited, but it is still everything he has ever wanted since he was 14 years old and it still feels so _good_ that nothing else in the world matters to him right then. Not the fact that people will gossip. Not that fact that there might be pictures in the press again. Not the fact that she isn't wearing the necklace he gave her again tonight for some reason. He has her and, after waiting over ten years for this, all of those other things seem so trivial in comparison.

Well, it would probably not seem so trivial to him that Tom Riddle is now leaning against the bar glaring at them - but he hasn't noticed that.

* * *

They lose track of time or, rather, willfully ignore it. By the time the final bell chimes and they rush to the table, there are only three seats together left. They are steps away when Tom swoops in with Melody, him taking the center one and directing her to the one on his right.

Cain is about to ask Lestrange to move over when Tom looks at Cassandra pointedly. A look that goes unnoticed by everyone else as they are busy talking, but not by her, Cain, or Lestrange. A look that might as well be a command. She bites her lip and obeys.

"Long line at the bar?" Tom quips as she sits down.

"Yes," she deadpans.

"You should have taken the time to fix your lipstick."

She waits until the first plates of food appear on the table and the first speaker takes the stage to mutter under her breath, "I do still wish I had never met you."

"Be nice, Cassandra," he hisses back. "We're in public."

"Take your own advice, Tom."

"I am, otherwise I would have already pulled your hairpins out. Another unladylike display and they may just disappear."

She reaches up to check the magically preserved rose pinned by her ear before picking up her utensils too. The rest of their first course passes in silence.

"I have somebody to introduce you to after dinner, Cass," he announces once the plates disappear. Convenient choice of timing, considering the lull in outside noise.

There is a noticeable pause in everyone else's conversations as they hear her nickname come out of his mouth. She swears she sees Lestrange's hand against Cain's shoulder, pushing him back down as soon as he tries to stand.

She avoids returning Cain's glances and pastes on a smile, "I look forward to meeting them, Tom."

She's grateful when the next course appears and Lestrange grudgingly turns toward her and tells her he's working in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. She acts as interested as she can, and he makes sure to provide material for follow-up question after question. She knows he's only doing it for Cain, who is still glancing back at her every few seconds and barely nodding along to whatever story Avery's telling him.

Dessert is next, and she is ready for a repeat of this routine, but Tom speaks up during the lull yet again, "Nott, didn't Greengrass say she needed help with the awards for this portion? Why don't you and Lestrange go and help her?"

They both stand without complaint, though she swears she almost catches a sorry look from Lestrange as he leaves. Probably aimed at Cain anyway, she thinks.

She ignores the obvious ploy and traditional manners, leaning as far toward Cain as she can while staying in her seat, "So, regular waltz or viennese?"

"Personally, I prefer a slow foxtrot," Tom answers. Her head snaps to him and she is about to spit out a response when he continues. "What do you prefer Melody?"

She feels Cain's hand on hers under the table and calms down. She turns back to him and he answers, "Regular."

"Really? One would think all that spinning in viennese would help with nervousness."

"You tripped on my foot during our lessons on viennese waltz and I haven't done one since," he says with a smile.

"Nous pouvons prendre un nouveau départ, non?" she retorts. Tom stands and she can feel him staring down at her. She says with one last smile to Cain before standing up, "Let's try out both later."

Tom takes her arm and leads her toward the front of the room, to the table at the center of the very first row.

"Professor Slughorn. It's nice to see you again," Tom says effusively as soon as they stop in front of the table and the man's attention shifts to him.

"My brightest student ever, this one. Could brew a potion in his sleep, probably," the older, rounder man bellows to the others sitting with him. He also sounds decidedly more drunk. "How are you doing, my boy?"

"Very well, professor. I wanted to introduce you to…"

"It's alright Tom, I recognize this lovely lady. Mrs. Alexander, how…"

"Ms. Malecrit," Tom corrects.

"Tom prefers to use my maiden name," she explains with a smile, reaching out a hand for a shake. "Ms. Cassandra Malecrit, professor. So lovely to meet you."

"Ms. Malecrit is one of my clients at the shop and I've recently gotten to know that she is also a very talented potioneer. In fact, she mentioned some interesting experimental potions she is working on now - just for research purposes, of course - and your name instantly came to mind as someone who might enjoy discussing them."

"If you found the topic interesting, Tom, I am sure I will be delighted to hear about it too. Please, sit, Ms. Malecrit. Will you stay, Tom? I can have someone fetch another chair."

"I'm afraid I do have some business to attend to, but I will be back," Tom responds with a smile. She knows what he expects her to talk about. The potion he's asked her to make. And, well, she's stuck here now, so why not?

* * *

Tom honors his word by coming back later, though almost an hour has passed.

"Apologies, professor. Business took longer than expected. I did remember that I forgot to give you this, however," Tom says with the widest smile she has seen on his face yet. He hands Slughorn a box of candied pineapple, which the old man almost snatches from him with effusive thanks. "Cassandra, Rosier is asking where you've gone. Seems like he wants that dance now."

Rosier hadn't really been asking where she had gone, of course. He can see where she has gone. He was really just asking if he could interrupt her - which earned many resounding no responses from Tom as he whisked Fawley away for conversation after conversation with high-ranking ministry officials.

Tom offers her a hand and she takes it, standing. She smiles, "It's a shame we have to cut our conversation short, but I should probably make sure my date does not get too bored. I look forward to our exchange of letters, professor."

Slughorn smiles back, by this point nearly tipping over in his chair. Tom leads her off but, instead of returning to their table, they head straight to the dance floor.

"I thought you said Cain was the one who wanted a dance?"

"He is."

"But Tom Riddle has to be first at everything, right?"

"I just wanted to take this opportunity to show you the proper way to dance."

"I know how to dance, and so does Cain. Probably better than you."

"See, I thought with the scene you two made earlier you might just start fucking on the dance floor instead."

"Don't worry, we got that out of the way before our arrival," she mocks as they set up in pose.

He picks the rose out of her hair and drops it on the dance floor. The moment the song starts up, his first step just happens to land directly on it. He mutters, "It would have gotten in the way of our dancing."

"And what about your date?"

"What about her?"

"Has Fawley gotten her first dance yet?"

"How would I know?"

She laughs, "Tossed her away that quickly? You must have been disappointed you didn't get more of a reaction. What did you think I would do, curse her?"

"The level of reaction was not the problem," he answers. It is a purposefully vague answer. The problem had been the _type_ of reaction, but he would prefer she assume it was something else, not having to do with her at all.

"How disappointed she must have been. The daughter of a former Minister for Magic, cast off by a simple shopkeeper."

"I am sure I will more than make up for it later tonight."

"Why wait until later?" she teases. It is a thinly veiled attempt at getting him to leave.

"Be nice or you can say goodbye to more than just the roses in your hair, little harpy."

She shifts her focus to her steps, evidently deciding it is not worth it to continue their banter. What seems like an eternity later to her, the song ends and all of the other couples on the floor step away from each other. She tries to step away from him but he keeps his hands on her.

"That was just a waltz, Cassandra. We still have two more dances to go."

"You do realize that if you scare him off, I will no longer have an incentive to give you whatever it is you want?"

"I am not trying to scare him off. Just putting him in his place."

"Which is?"

"Second."

But once the other songs end and she finally finds Rosier and they have their turn, Tom knows this is not true. Because the way she laughs when she is with him is completely different from any way she has ever reacted to anything Tom has said. Because when they are together there is a universe between them, a past and a future and everything in between still to be discovered. Because she kisses him as they leave the party and Tom vanishes her hairclips and wishes he could vanish more.


	7. Three's a Crowd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cain Rosier is in a game he doesn't want to play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song inspiration for chapter: ilomilo, Billie Eilish  
> "Remember not to get too close to stars, they're never gonna give you love like ours. Where did you go? I should know, but it's cold and I don't wanna be lonely, so show me the way home. I can't lose another life."

The potion Tom has her making is for him, to counteract certain effects he's had since he made the second horcrux. Not being able to sleep. Not being able to keep food down. Bloodshot eyes. Sallow complexion.

He had been making his own all these years, but lately it seemed he needed more and more frequent doses to maintain a state of normal human function. Not that he much minded being able to skip the obligations of rest and sustenance - it saved him time for doing other things - but there were events where he needed to eat and situations where he needed to sleep, plus the necessity of maintaining his physical perfection.

He wanted to see if she could do better. She certainly had more time, and he was never personally a big fan of potion brewing. It felt like the least magical of all the magical arts to him, basically just cooking with more unusual ingredients and some very basic wandwork.

A few days pass between the gala and their next appointment. When he arrives in her manor, he expects to find that she's made barely any progress. The conversation with Slughorn would have no doubt given her an idea of things she had to go back and re-do, if not convinced her to scrap her plans entirely.

Instead, he finds her waiting for him in the sitting room, reading a letter as she lounges on the settee facing the fireplace.

"You are early again," she mumbles as she finishes a sentence.

"Since you appear not to have other plans anyway, let's just agree that 2 p.m. is our new meeting time," he replies, stepping out and dusting off his robes.

"No, thank you," she responds, still reading and still not looking up. "We already established 3 p.m. as our deal, didn't we? I am sure you have other clients at the store that are more in need of an extra hour with you than I am."

"Yes, I am sure there are other clients who would be more grateful for my time than you are. Since it doesn't seem you want this, I will just head back to the store now."

He is waving what he knows to be her father's favorite pocket watch from his finger. She is looking at it so intently that he thinks she may just try to jump up and grab it if he turns to leave. The polite smile appears on her face again before she says, "My apologies if that came off the wrong way, Tom. I was just trying to be considerate. Please, sit."

She summons the coffee tray from the corner of the room to the table, finally putting her letter down next to it. She has folded it so all he can see is her name in Rosier's handwriting on the front.

"It's 500," he says after he picks up his cup.

"That's fine," she responds calmly. It is not like her at all to accept his first offer. She must be building up his goodwill for something.

"You haven't even started?" he guesses.

"I have. They are brewing in my study. We can take a look after," she responds calmly.

"They?"

"Yes. I am trying out a few different formulations, of course. But I also thought it might be more effective to split everything up in to two batches since some of the ingredients may interfere with each other during brewing. They can be mixed together after without any reactions, if that's a concern. There's even ways to mix them to delay the release of certain effects over time or until later."

Interesting. He had not thought of that before. It is a rather novel approach, considering he didn't remember reading more than a few mentions of multi-part potions in the latest academic periodicals.

"Did Slughorn come up with that?"

"No, I did, though he did provide advice on which ingredients may work better when their effects are dispersed over time."

He resists the impulse to ask further questions. He does not want to seem impressed. Instead, he leans back in his chair and nonchalantly says, "I suppose we will see if your little innovation pans out soon enough."

"Next week, I think. Everything should be bottled by the time you arrive. At 3 p.m."

"I'll come earlier to help," he says with a polite smile.

"Thank you for your generous offer, but I assure you I can handle it myself," she says, returning the same polite smile.

"I'll come earlier to help, Cassandra," he says while holding her gaze as he leans forward to put his empty cup down.

"Thank you, Tom," she says. It is better to concede this argument to put him in a mood to concede the one she knows they are about to have than to continue it. She puts her cup down as well and then calmly says, "After that, I'm afraid I will have to miss our appointments for a few weeks. I need to go deal with some property in New York."

"How long will that take?" he asks tersely. At least it isn't a no right away. That's encouraging, she thinks.

"It will just be two or three weeks."

"And you can't pay someone else to do it?"

"It would really be resolved more quickly if I attend to it personally. Plus, Cain was looking forward to a little vacation."

The twitch of his jaw reveals his displeasure. It's alright, she expected that. She just needs to proceed as if it isn't material to her desire to go. As if it's a coincidence. She does not let the polite smile drop from her face. She resists the urge to break his gaze.

"Send him then," he retorts.

"Why, are you going to need me to do something else during that time?" she asks. She focuses on maintaining steady breaths and forces her eyes wide open to fake confusion.

"Most likely not."

"So let me go."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because we made a deal, Cassandra."

Her frustration overcomes her and she almost throws herself back on the settee with a huff. Her arms are crossed and she is glaring at him as she barks, "I didn't realize that deal was set in stone, Tom - especially since you tried to modify it yourself only a few minutes ago."

"Which you declined, as I will decline this."

"It's just two weeks, for Merlin's sake - but fine, you can come at 10 a.m. and stay through dinner for the rest of our appointments if you'd like."

"You are not going, little harpy," he commands. "This is not something that can be negotiated for."

She purses her lips and turns her face away from him for a second, composing herself, before she stands and they walk to the study together in silence.

* * *

"Why is it blue?" he asks, staring down into the largest cauldron.

"I just added the billywigs this morning. They should brew down soon," she answers. She is standing at her desk, sorting through a stack of books instead of looking at him.

"Whole billywigs?"

"Yes. It should be more potent than just using the stings and slime separately."

"But the salamander blood and horklump juice should still overpower the color."

"Those two are being added last to prevent any curdling. I was planning to put them in after dinner today."

"Good. I will stay and observe," he declares, walking toward her.

She laughs, loud and real, "You will be waiting around quite a while then."

"I can find something interesting to read to pass the time," he answers. She turns at realizing how closely behind her his voice is coming from to make sure he does not catch her off guard. "Surely you have enough food in the vast pantries of this place to feed an extra person?"

"I'm going out for dinner," she responds flatly.

He looks her over and just then notices she is wearing a red dress under her usual short black robe. He almost regrets that she was smart enough not to put any roses in her hair this time. He can just imagine how she would have yelped as he pulled them out. For a second, he has the urge to reach up and touch her hair to see if it is as soft as he suspects it is, to feel how it runs through his fingers.

He holds his hands behind his back and smirks at her from a safe distance instead, "Really, Cassandra? That's what you would prefer? Going out to another lavish restaurant, eating too little food, and dodging spectators? Instead of making sure this interesting bit of magic you've thought up isn't ruined because of a delay in the dessert course?"

"If you care so much about it, you can stay and add them yourself," she says, making a move to walk away to fetch the money she owes him for the pocket watch.

Tom reaches out and grabs her wrist. His prods, "You know you want to be here to make sure it works."

"I have plans," she hisses back. She does not bother to try to pull her arm away. From past experience, she knows he is stronger than he looks and she is unlikely to succeed.

"Stay and you can go to New York," he offers. He sees her eyes light up and quickly clarifies, "Only you, Cassandra. If you really think I am going to let you leave and take my leverage with you, you are overestimating my naivety."

"No, thank you, Tom," she says with a scowl. "You can stay or you can go. Either way, I am leaving in three hours to meet your _leverage_ for dinner."

"Fine," he says, jaw twitching again. "Where's your owl?"

"Why?"

"If you won't stay, I'll tell him to cancel."

"Good luck with that," she says with a laugh as she goes off to get her owl. She cannot imagine why he thinks this will work, but she'll entertain him.

He has already written the letter by the time she is back with it perched on her arm. It is only two sentences long after all: _Tell Cassandra you won't be coming to dinner. In the future, note she is unavailable on Wednesdays._

They retreat to separate ways to pass the time while awaiting a reply. Tom picks a book on the theory of apparition to read. Cassandra sits at her desk, balancing accounts and handling business correspondence.

It is almost time for her to leave by the time her owl comes back. Tom watches, amused, as she retrieves the note from its foot. She glares at the piece of paper as soon as she unrolls it. He walks up behind her, hands quickly finding their way to her hips to stop her from moving.

"As I already told you, I always find a way to get what I want," he whispers in her ear. "Though it would really be so much less troublesome if you didn't refuse me."

"You are the worst person I have ever met," she mutters while burning the piece of paper in her hands to ashes. After all, what good does an apology do when your boyfriend picks someone else over you?

"You don't mean that. You are just disappointed in him. _I_ am living up to _exactly_ what I promised you, Cass," he mumbles, his grasp on her hips tightening as she squirms. "Let's have dinner and finish our potions."

* * *

As the glass shatters on the marble floor, the other patrons of The Siren's Tail all looking up startled. A bartender rushes over to spell up the liquid and disappear the debris.

"I said your finest firewhisky. That was shit. Give me the most expensive bottle you have," Cain orders the frazzled wizard.

"Bring my friend some water too, please," Lestrange interjects as he walks up, dropping a generous amount of galleons on the bar to make up for the glass and the glare Cain is still sporting."Greengrass went out of her way to bother me at my favorite pub just to ask me to come rescue you."

"Rescue me?" Cain laughs, "There's been no rescuing any of us since fifth year."

"What did he do?" Lestrange half-whispers. Cain just gestures to the piece of paper still laying in front of him. Lestrange picks it up and reads it quickly. "I told you she was going to fuck you up again."

"She didn't write that, did she?"

"She could have asked him to -"

"She wouldn't," Cain snaps. "He's doing something to her."

"You are assuming that just because of one note?"

"Because of one note, two parties, and three dances."

"She could have wanted to dance with him, you know," Lestrange points out. When Cain rolls his eyes, he sighs and says, "It's not out of the realm of possibility for a girl to want to dance with Tom Riddle, even a girl whose taken."

"She always calls him Tom when he's around."

"Like I said, not out of the realm of possibility. They have been spending time together, haven't they?"

" _Only_ when he's around, Roland," Cain answers while pouring a generous helping of the firewhisky that's just landed in front of him and immediately drinking it down. "You saw them, at the party. Did she look like she wanted to sit with him?"

Lestrange looks around to check that no one else they know is in the bar before half-whispering, "Has she said anything?"

"Other than that he's a perfect gentlemen? No," Cain sneers. Lestrange is the one to laugh now. Tom is a good actor, but not around anybody who knows him as well as she evidently seems to. Cain is staring down into another full glass as he mumbles, "She said she wanted to move to New York. I thought she was joking."

"The day he lets that happen is the day the Black Lake freezes over."

"So you think there's something to it too then?"

"You knew he wanted something from her before this all started again. Either he's going to get it, get bored, and move on, or he's going to get it and she's going to join," Lestrange says while reaching out to pour a glass for himself. "This is temporary. Grin and bear it, Cain."

The two sit in silence for a while. The bottle is almost empty before Cain picks up the note again and reads it a few more times. He slurs, "She is unavailable on Wednesdays? What the fuck does that mean?"

"That she's unavailable on Wednesdays," Lestrange deadpans.

Cain balls the paper up while muttering, "You and I both know it means that Tom fucking Riddle wants to fuck my girlfriend on Wednesdays."

"Sure. For some reason he wants to specifically reserve Wednesdays to do that," Lestrange drawls sarcastically.

"Don't make jokes about this," Cain says through gritted teeth.

"Don't you think it's a problem that you think she would?" Lestrange fires back.

"Do you think he would stop trying if she said no? You know him. He pushes and he pushes and he pushes until everything's his for the taking."

"Not with women. If she says no, there's plenty of other options. If she says no enough times, he'll get bored."

"Not this time he won't."

"Why not?"

"It's her."

"I know you think she's the only woman in the world worth having, but he's not like that. He doesn't have emotional attachments to people like that."

"How do you know?" Cain grumbles.

"Because - it's just the way he is," Lestrange answers, struggling to put his impressions into words. How does one admit somebody who they call their friend doesn't care about them and never did or will? "It's temporary. It can only be temporary for him, Cain."

Cain shakes his head and drinks down another glass of firewhisky. When Lestrange meets his eyes again, he blurts out, "He looked at me when he crushed that rose, Roland. Right bloody at me."

Lestrange does not know what to say for a few seconds. In his observations, Tom has only ever been indifferent toward people. He has never expressed feelings for an actual person, whether desire or hate or friendship. He has only ever wanted _things_ from people or been angry about _things_ people have done. He hated that Dumbledore was always meddling in his plans. He liked that the boys were always willing to follow his orders. He liked that the girls would fall at his feet practically begging him to take them to bed. His feelings about people were never divorced from what they would or wouldn't do for him. Yet here she is, even in front of other people, refusing to do what he asks in the ways he actually wants it done. And here Tom is, still wanting to be around her, still punishing Cain for existing.

It makes Lestrange hate her more that she's the only one who has managed to break inside of him. In his jealousy, he forgets about his friend and what this could mean for him. All he mumbles back is, "I told you she was trouble."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am getting almost no comments for this story :( Do you guys not like the direction it's going in? Are you not digging Cassandra? Is Tom OOC? Basically, I am paranoid, so what is wrong? I really want to hear what readers want. Please help me out here and leave a comment – I just want to make this story better for all of you!


	8. Playing It Close to the Chest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They make a good team when they're on the same side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tom's Mood Song: This Fire by Franz Ferdinand  
> Cassandra's Mood Song: Eat U Alive by Marian Hill

Tom finds something else for her to help with the next week, when he hears that Abraxas Malfoy will be at the underground casino Bagman runs that weekend. Abraxas had been several years ahead of Tom at school and didn't make a habit of attending the normal society events, so he had never had much of a chance to talk to him. He knows how important the Malfoy family is, and has been trying to catch him in a conversation for years now to no avail. Based on what he's heard of Malfoy's proclivities, he suspects adding some new bait to his arm might just be what he finally needs to capture the man's attention.

On Friday night, he sends her a green velvet dress and a note to meet him down the street from Bagman's townhouse at 10 p.m. on Saturday.

He is leaning against the side of a building, checking his watch, when she turns the corner and meets him. Instead of a hello, he says, "You are late."

"I was wrapping up another engagement. There was some overlap due to the last-minute nature of your invitation," she replies while fixing her lipstick in a mirror. He can smell Rosier's cologne on her. She's wearing the dress he sent. He wonders if Rosier noticed the departure from her usual choice of attire during their dates. She looks at him again as she says, "You are lucky my curiosity got the better of me or I wouldn't have shown up at all."

He offers her his arm and she takes it, allowing him to lead the way down the street until they come to a door guarded by a man in a black suit. Tom just nods at him and is let in.

"Wand, please," the man requests as she is about to follow him through the door.

"That's ridiculous. He didn't have to -" she protests.

Tom turns back, figuring it is better to cut her off before she makes a scene, "I'll ensure the lady behaves herself, Macnair."

She scowls as the man moves aside to let her pass too. Once she has caught up with Tom, she hisses, "Are you supposed to be my date or my chaperone?"

"If I was your date, I would have been the one to take you to dinner earlier tonight," he snaps back, jaw twitching afterward as he catches another whiff off her.

"Merlin, something's put you in a mood," she teases. "What's wrong - did Fawley get tired of you?"

He whips around quickly. They are still in the hallway but he knows people can see them through the double doors to the ballroom open at the end of it. A bit of a scene won't be too detrimental, he figures. He has her pressed against the wall before she can react, his forearm against the wall to the left of her head so that he can lean down toward her and his right hand on her hip to keep her from moving.

Her heart is racing and she swears she can feel it about to leap from her chest. Every part of his being feels like it is invading her. They have been close before but never like this, never face to face, just centimeters apart and both on edge. She realizes he smells like cinnamon, sandalwood, and fresh laundry.

"Fawley did not get tired of me. Girls do not get tired of me."

"Because they are never interested in the first place?"

The grey of his eyes darkens and she is sure the flecks of red in them were not there before. He moves down even closer to her, lips almost against her ear as he hisses, "If you fuck Rosier later tonight, I want you to keep that dress on to remind you it is only through my good grace that you two are still allowed to see each other."

She has the strange urge to reach out and touch his sharp cheekbones to see if they actually cut her. To see if she can force any hint of color onto those pale cheeks. To see if she can wipe that self-assured smirk off his full lips.

Instead, without missing a beat, she responds, "I will, so you can imagine it later tonight, when you are in bed alone."

His hand tightens around her hip. Merlin, he's about two seconds from just taking her against the wall right here and now to teach her a lesson. From the way she arches up toward him he almost think she'd allow it. Then the sound of the front door opening again reminds them where they are.

He drops away from her. She glowers at him across the hall. It seems like hours pass in the span of seconds as they stare at each other, each waiting for the other to act first. Finally, she steps back toward him, taking his arm again and letting him lead their way into the room and up to the bar. She notices he does not even order before someone comes up to them with two glasses of champagne.

"So what do you need me to do?"

"Just sit here and look pretty," he responds quietly. She glides on to the bar stool behind her. He stops her from turning around with a hand against her waist. She shifts quickly, making his hand drop.

"Everybody's staring already," she says, looking down. He can hear the insecurity in her voice no matter how much she tries to sound nonchalant or even proud. She puts on a brave face about it but she is still not comfortable being in public, still obsessing over what people are whispering about her whenever they look.

"Of course they are. I'm me and you are you," he says, lifting a hand to push her hair back behind her ear. "Not to mention you are the most beautiful women in the room, and they are all probably wondering how I convinced you to go anywhere with me."

She smiles wryly at him as she holds her glass up for a toast. When his glass clinks against hers, she declares, "To secrets and shopkeepers."

"To deals and dowagers," he responds. She finishes taking a sip and lowers her glass. This time she does not move away from the hand on her waist.

"As I don't have a clue how to play any of these games and I didn't bring nearly enough to bankroll you, I really hope your plan does not have to do with any actual gambling."

"No, but we can always dabble in that later if you'd like me to show you any games. I am going to leave for a few minutes to say hello to an old friend. A waiter will come up to you and inform you that the gentlemen sitting in the back corner booth has bought you a drink. Decline. Do not go over and join him when the waiter tries again. Stay right here and wait for me."

"Yes, sir," she says mockingly. He raises an eyebrow and she smirks. "Don't worry Tom, I'll behave myself."

* * *

"Is someone going to tell Rosier about _that_?" Greengrass says in a low voice as she reaches the group's table in an adjacent room. She is looking around all the while to make sure he doesn't appear out of nowhere.

"After what happened at the gala, I'm sure he already knows," Nott mutters back, only half-untangling himself from his own date first. "There's a reason he and Lestrange were left off the invitation, isn't there?"

"Shouldn't we say something to him?" Mulciber asks, "I mean - if anyone touched Vesta like that I'd want somebody to at least bloody say something."

Nott chuckles, "You can volunteer if you'd like. I'm not getting punished just because Rosier decided to play with Tom's food."

"One of you girls should at least go and take Fawley home," Avery interjects. "She looks like she's about to burst out in tears."

"She's an idiot if she ever thought Tom was interested in her past the second he introduced her," Nott replies.

Snyde pulls away from him, slapping him on the shoulder, "Stop being so mean. Girls can't help but have feelings, you know? I'll volunteer."

"Girls can't help but have feelings," Nott mocks once she is out of sight. "Thanks Avery, now I'll have to find someone else to take _me_ home tonight."

"Do you think she has feelings for him?" Avery mumbles.

"I don't even think she has feelings for Rosier," Greengrass sneers.

"It's alright, I'm sure he can dream them up," Nott grumbles. "He's been dreaming about her since fourth year, for Merlin's sake."

Greengrass scrunches her face, "Too much information, Nott."

Avery nearly whispers, "Bloody hell, who is going to clean up the trail of crippled mudbloods he leaves behind when their relationship explodes this time?"

"Won't be mudbloods this time, will it?" Carrow snipes. She is met with a pointed look from everyone at the table and blushes before quickly muttering, "I'm going to help with Fawley."

After she scuttles away, Mulciber stands, "I'm going to say -"

"Sit down, Mulciber," Nott commands. "He isn't just anyone, is he? You'll catch a really foul mood if you go. He's clearly otherwise engaged."

"Engaged with the love of Rosier's life. This is going to go really bloody fantastic, isn't it?" Avery says, more into his glass than to any of them.

"Does she even know?" Greengrass hisses. At the confused looks from them, she adds, "About… everything."

"He's brought her to two gatherings with us. She must know," Nott declares.

"But she's never really _with_ us, is she? I mean, even when we're all together, she's really just with him. Or Rosier, but you know…" Greengrass trails off, a scowl on her face.

"She did marry a mudblood," Mulciber points out.

"She did kill said mudblood and inherit his massive fortune after, what, barely four years?" Nott says with a shrug. "Besides, Tom says she was imperiused into it."

"I'm at least going to go and tell Rosier to drop in. He can pretend it was a coincidence," Avery says.

"Brilliant idea. That way both of you can get punished for interfering in Tom's plans," Nott growls. "Maybe all of us can if we are really lucky and he happens to find out about this conversation. Sit the hell down, order another drink, and stay out of his way."

* * *

Tom excuses himself from Rockwood's table after ten minutes have passed. When he returns to the bar, he realizes he should have come back sooner.

"I thought we were declining drinks from strange men, Cassandra," he says with a forced smile as he arrives back at her side.

"He introduced himself first," she retorts with a smile that seems all too real. "Tom Riddle, Abraxas Malfoy."

"Yes, I've heard of you," Abraxas says with a smirk "Quite curious to see you here, Mr. Riddle. I heard you don't gamble."

"You must be mistaken. Perhaps what you heard is I don't lose."

"According to the stories in the Daily Prophet you are losing at something, aren't you? Unless those stories aren't true, Ms. Malecrit?"

"The media exaggerates, as I am sure you know, Mr. Malfoy," she responds smoothly.

"Then would you object to a small bet between your date and I? Three games of three card brag. Winner gets to buy you your next drink - and your company while you drink it, of course."

"Oh, Tom's not my date. He's my chaperone," she teases. "No, I wouldn't object."

She slips off her chair and Tom immediately pulls her to him with a hand on her waist, his other hand quickly taking her drink away and replacing it with another glass of champagne the waiter's brought him. They exchange glances, the flash of a smirk on Tom's face indicating to her that even though she's ruined his original plan, this is a better one for whatever he wants to achieve in the end.

He follows Abraxas over to a table already occupied by three other players and places a ten galleon chip down on the last spot. Abraxas takes up the spot on the other end. She catches him still leering at her and makes a snap decision, rising on her tiptoes to place a kiss on Tom's cheek.

"Don't you dare lose," she whispers in his ear before withdrawing.

"I won't," he answers. Unlike her, he does not bother to be quiet about it.

Tom loses the first game. She is about to chide him when she sees there is no angry gleam in his eyes and knows it was on purpose.

The second hand starts and all Tom does is glance at his cards quickly before placing his bet. One player withdraws in the first round, and Tom starts the next one by putting down a fifty galleon bet. By this point, she's realized he has either been counting cards or reading minds or both since they walked up. She looks away, pretending to be hiding a pout. Malfoy appears to interpret this as she had wished, because they are soon the only two still in the game, a generous sum already in the pot. When Tom reveals his cards and Malfoy realizes he has lost, he almost throws his own at the dealer.

His confidence frazzled, it is easy for Tom to repeat his victory again for their third hand, tricking Malfoy into thinking he really is bluffing this time by faking one little worried glance at her as soon as he sees his cards and then playing the exact same strategy.

"Good game," Malfoy says through gritted teeth, offering a hand to Tom to shake. Tom nods and returns the gesture. Sensing he has not accomplished his ultimate goal yet - and eager to end the night sooner rather than later - Cassandra decides to speak up.

"We don't have to banish our new friend quite yet, do we Tom?" she asks coyly, pushing away from him to step closer to Abraxas. "Perhaps I can buy you a consolation drink, Mr. Malfoy?"

He smiles at the boldness of her offer, "If your chaperone will allow it."

"Who am I to deny the lady what she wants?" Tom answers with a smile.

Malfoy takes her arm and leads her over to his booth in the corner. She sees Tom wave at the same waiter who helped them earlier out of the corner of her eye. Tom sits on the same side as she does, and neither she nor Malfoy miss the hand he places just above her knee. Drinks appear a second later. This time at least he, somehow, got her gin - her usual preference. She decides not to protest regarding the placement of his hand.

"Do you happen to know Ms. Malecrit inherited and runs a shipping company?" Tom drawls, impatient to accomplish his goals and take her away from his insistent stare.

"No," Abraxas answers, still looking at her as he takes a sip of his whisky. "I am guessing _you_ do know I am currently having some issues in that area, Mr. Riddle."

"I had heard some rumors to that effect," Tom says nonchalantly.

Abraxas is the liaison between the ministry and the goblins for the minting of coins, and oversees the entire process, including sourcing the metals needed for it. Tom had heard he was not performing particularly well on that front, as several flying wagons containing gold had recently either been attacked and stolen or malfunctioned and crashed. It seemed the ministry's aurors were always busy either tracking down missing metal or obliviating muggle's memory of wagons falling from the sky, from what Rockwood had told him.

"And why do you think I need Ms. Malecrit's help with those issues?" Abraxas asks with a raised eyebrow.

"Because the company she runs is the largest shipping company in the world - wizard or muggle - and specially tailored to ensure the security and secrecy of magical goods."

"Do tell me more please, Ms. Malecrit," Abraxas says with a smile toward her.

"Of course, Mr. Malfoy. Our first point of differentiation is that our entire staff are wizards. I assure you that they will not betray the routes and schedules of any of our lines or pilfer any cargo - because they are bound by blood oath not to do so. Second, loading. I'm sure it's a hassle for you now, not being able to use magic to do it because you are relying on warehouses in muggle-populated areas. We have our own warehouses, right next to special docks in many places, that no wandering muggles would be able to find."

"And where you don't have your own docks?"

"Where we don't have our own docks, we have implanted wizards within the muggle system to ensure the secrecy of our operations and to accommodate our needs instead. We use magic to load the ships and magic to protect them. Well-tested magic, not liable to malfunction, yet not nearly as easy to spot - even to a trained eye - because there are thousands of ships sailing around the world at any given time."

"How many ships have you lost?"

"None since I've been in charge."

"How much cargo have you lost?"

"Again, none. If there were any issues, I assure you I would _personally_ resolve them. In fact, I am so sure that there won't be any that I insure every shipment against my own accounts."

"What's the going price? Per 100 metric tons, let's say," he asks, eyes gleaming with eagerness and greed.

Tom squeezes her leg. She holds back a scowl but allows him to respond, "There's no going price. Ms. Malecrit is looking for a profit sharing arrangement. You and she will negotiate with the goblins together to arrive on an acceptable fee structure and split the profits - let's say 80 for her, 20 for you?"

"Let's say 60 and 40."

"That would not be acceptable to me, Mr. Malfoy," she speaks up, unable to help representing her own interests.

"80 and 20 is too step. Unless something else is thrown into the deal?"

She swears she catches Tom actually hiss like a snake ready to attack before he interjects, "She is not part of the deal, Malfoy."

Cassandra almost laughs. Why not? In his eyes, she had been part of the deal when he was the one asking, hadn't she? She is quick to interject, a smirk on her face as she leans forward over the table toward the blonde, "We can see how things progress, Mr. Malfoy. For now, I'll play nice and offer you 70 and 30."

"I will think about it while I top off my drink," Abraxas says, waving his empty glass in the air before standing up.

"Stop scowling or you'll scare him off for good," she mumbles out of the corner of her mouth as she leans back in her seat.

"What would Rosier say if he knew what you just promised him, little harpy?"

"Don't pretend you are worried about his feelings all of a sudden," she bites back, turning toward him. "It wasn't a promise. Just the suggestion of a possibility that will never actually pass. As is sometimes necessary to close a business deal."

"Seems like more than a suggestion since it looked like you were practically going to jump over the table and on to him," he hisses.

She pushes his hand from her leg and scoots away a bit. Abraxas seems more than pleased with this development when he returns. He smiles as he offers her another drink. She returns the smile as she takes it.

"To our new partnership, Ms. Malecrit," he declares, holding out his glass for a toast. As their glasses meet he adds, "I look forward to spending much more time together developing it."

* * *

Malfoy draws her away to serve as his lady luck while he continues gambling. Tom figures that she got herself into this, justifying using his request as an excuse to go and attend to other business. It is only when he looks over from a conversation with Nott to see Malfoy getting a little too handsy during Pontoon that he feels the need to intervene.

"Time to call it a night, Cass," he orders as he slides up next to her and takes a hold of her waist. She turns her head away from Malfoy, who is nearly pressed against her other side, to respond.

"If you need to make your bedtime, I can see to it that Cassandra gets home safely when she feels like leaving, Riddle," Malfoy replies before she can. His right hand is laying over her hand on the railing and his left hand is playing with her hair, for Merlin's sake. He might be the heir to a noble house, but if he thinks he is getting away with this, he is mistaken.

"She's my date, Malfoy," Tom responds curtly. "I will see her home."

Cassandra speaks up before the two can continue their pissing match, "Thank you for a pleasant evening, Mr. Malfoy. I will write you soon to arrange our first business meeting."

Tom leads her out and back down the street the way they came, pausing as soon as they are around a corner to lean back against a railing and pull something out of his pocket. He puts the thin white cigarette in his mouth and it immediately lights itself. A deep breath later, he pulls it out and exhales a puff of grey smoke to his side.

"That's a muggle habit," she mumbles, standing with her arms crossed in front of him.

"These aren't," he says, bitting the cigarette between his teeth as he reaches in to his pocket to count his earnings from his little game with Malfoy. "Used magic to fix all the bad side effects and the disgusting smell."

She rolls her eyes at his response before saying, "Thank Merlin you finally got bored. I swear he would have insisted on teaching me every game in that place before even contemplating not being offended if I left."

"Still think this possibility will never actually pass?"

"I will make sure it doesn't. He's a bit… much for my taste."

"Much what?"

"Much too spoiled," she answers. Tom chuckles at her response. Though he does not elaborate why, she knows what he means - _And Rosier isn't?_ She rushes to move the conversation to another topic, "Are you going to explain to me how obtaining a rather large deal for my company is helpful to you?"

"Probably, at some point. If you behave," he responds as he tosses his cigarette on the floor and stomps it out. "The pub in Diagon Alley has a fireplace if you need to floo back. I can walk you over."

"Thank you for the offer, but I do not need your protection."

"I am going that way anyway."

"I'm not," she replies, wand already halfway out of her pocket. "I keep my word, Tom."

He tries to reach out to stop her wrist from finishing the motion for the apparition spell, but she is already gone. Tom already knows he is not going to be able to sleep tonight.

Instead, he wanders London until he finds some muggle who has a passing likeness to Cain, erects silencing and concealment charms in the alley around them, and subjects him to crucio until nearly first light. Yet even the image of the man breaking apart in front of him is not enough to get his mind off the one she has conjured in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I really want to hear everybody's thoughts - really, no matter what they are. Please help me out and leave a comment so I can continue to make the story better.   
> Irrelevant PSA, don't go to law school. Everything about it is the worst. One day I am going to write a Tom RIddle law school AU that's going to be the best thing to come from this experience.


	9. Hell Hath No Fury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course, they are never really on the same side because they are both only on their own side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Mood Song: Copycat by Billie Eilish

Another two months go by, and Tom thinks perhaps she has finally gotten over her rebellious streak. Perhaps she has finally actually forgiven him and acclimated back into having him in her life. She is almost warm if perhaps not friendly, while being consistently just polite enough to avoid conflict. It is almost like she considers him her friend again. She is busy with the deal with Malfoy, so he does not ask anything else from her. It is going well, she tells him. The goblins are not as bad as people say, as long as you negotiate on fair grounds, she says. Malfoy has tried things but she has always told him they should keep their relationship professional "for now," without revealing that she does not intend them to have any relationship at all later.

He arrives at 2 p.m. every Wednesday and stays for dinner, talking and reading and just watching her, and she does not ask nor complain. There is something he noticed on his first visit after, however - all the furniture is now further apart. The tables between each set of chairs or couches seem to have become wider, as well as her desk, to the point that if he did lean over one of them and try to touch her he knows he would not be able to reach. She is always already seated in her study when he arrives, and she never stands if she can help it. She always goes down to put dinner on first and stays on the other side of the table or counter once he arrives. It seems there is never a moment where there isn't _something_ ensuring the physical distance between them. He could willfully break it, of course, but he takes the hint. After all, that particular game is no fun when the other person doesn't want to play along - and anyway, it will be easier for him if her guard comes down all the way again.

He does not ask Rosier to bring her anywhere again. Even Rosier himself seems to have dropped away from their events, not attending anything unless his presence is clearly required. Tom knows they have still been seeing each other because one of the reporters at the prophet did tell him that she comes in to check on the paper's operations on Saturday mornings, so she must be spending her weekends in London with him. She does not mention him to Tom, which is wise considering Tom is pretty sure the victim of his next outburst will not be a stand-in for the real thing. He cannot risk that - cannot risk their deal - over a temporary inconvenience.

* * *

She checks the clock again as she changes. Just thirty minutes left. Time to get to her desk. After all, she never knows when he is going to decide to start showing up even earlier. Eventually, he'll be here in time for breakfast, she thinks. She wonders if she is the only _client_ he tortures like this. One would certainly think his calendar would be too full to carry out all his schemes if she isn't.

She chides herself for using the word torture. Torture is what he does to the others, to Cain. She might not have calculated exactly what is going on with all that yet, but she has noticed that she is lucky enough not to be treated like the other purebloods he seems to collect around himself. To have at least the minimal impression of retaining some free will. To have the option to disagree with him, to make fun of him, to say no to things.

She knows he knows her weaknesses and could easily exploit them for more help, more time, more _anything_. He knows what she wants - her family heirlooms and Cain - and he could easily withhold either of those things. She has already learned the lesson that Cain will listen to him over her. So it is an easy choice to stay in line, to observe their deal, because what else can she do? Leave, of course, but she's not sure she could convince Cain to go with her, so… appeasing him it is for now. At least their interactions are still negotiations. At least she is still treated like an equal, she reminds herself.

Except she is suspicious of _why_ she is still treated like an equal and it really only complicates matters more, really only raises questions of how long all of this can keep going exactly as it is. The best case scenario, the one she is trying to engineer, involves boring him and losing his interest. Which is already a problem because he does not seem like the type of man to lose interest in something once he wants it - and she is not the type of woman to lose interest in something once it captures her attention. She will not lie, Tom Riddle has captured her attention.

It would be a farce to say that he is not charming, when he wants to be at least. It would be a lie to say she does not enjoy their conversations, at least sometimes. He knows more about magic, all kinds of it, than any other person she has ever met. He can keep up with an argument. He does not balk at certain topics, or imply that they unfit for a pretty young thing like her. There are days where she actually almost forgets why he is there, almost forget this is not a normal visit between two acquaintances. There are days when she thinks he is handsome, even bordering on perfect, when there is no anger or agenda contorting his features.

All she can hope for is that today will be one of those days.

* * *

"Good afternoon," he says, walking straight in and taking a seat across from her at her desk. She mumbles the greeting back and just motions toward the space in front of him. He looks down to see a contract between her shipping company and Gringotts.

"It was signed Monday. We came to a final agreement Thursday, but if we had signed it on Friday then Malfoy would have made celebratory drinks obligatory."

"Congratulations," he says while reading it over.

Favorable terms all around, the best one being monthly meetings with the goblins. That was good for him, as that relationship was a key part of why he had negotiated this deal. The other part, of course, was to have a bit of blackmail against Malfoy for taking her payoffs. He would have Rockwood talk to Malfoy about not touching her during future business engagements now that they could afford a hit to his goodwill.

Tom smiles and looks up at her again to ask, "Shall we celebrate this weekend? Perhaps another trip to the casino?"

"I have plans this weekend. Perhaps some other time," she deflects politely. Of course she does. She does not seem to miss the way he rolls his eyes in response. "Well, is it everything you hoped for?"

"Nearly," he mutters. "You can have a few weeks off as a reward. Let's say the next two meetings?"

"Three would be grand," she says with a wider smile. "As I have been so busy tending to this, I have neglected some of my other business dealings and they need attention before the end of the year."

"What are those other business dealings? I know about the ones on the books, of course, but I would imagine there are a few that are a bit harder to track down."

"Just hobbies. Potions ingredients. Fashion lines. Little things like that," she waves off. "So three?"

"You can have three if you agree to be available if I'd like to introduce you to anyone else during that time," he concedes. He can always _find_ someone to introduce her to. Perhaps at a nice restaurant. Or perhaps at the casino again. Hell, he can find many many someones to introduce her to, enough to keep her occupied every hour of every weekend from here to Christmas.

"Of course. Always happy to help a friend, Tom," she says with a smile that is one step away from openly sarcastic. He decides to ignore this.

"I left the portrait in the sitting room."

"Thank you. 80?" She asks. He nods. She adds, "By the way, where did you leave that book on cartomancy you were reading last week?"

"Last row, third shelf. Next to the ones on dream interpretation and palmistry."

"Trying to impose some organization on to my library, I see," she teases with a raised eyebrow and a bit of an actual smile. She stands to go get it. He continues reading the contract, pushing down the impulse to reach out and grab her while she passes by. Not yet. She is already on edge, no matter how calm she forces herself to appear, and he cannot risk scaring her away permanently.

* * *

After dinner, he tells her to walk him to the sitting room. She usually leaves him to find his way back himself while she spells the place clean, so his request is met with a short wary glance before she responds with the obligatory, "Of course."

"I did have something else ready to celebrate the deal. A thank you gift, if you will," he says, mustering his most charming smile, as they stop by the fireplace. He reaches inside his robe pocket, resisting the urge to reach out toward her instead. She is _so far away_. At least two full strides of his lanky legs. What does she think he is going to do to her that she needs that much time to react?

She steps forward to take the green box he holds out, long and rectangular and wrapped in a silver ribbon. She has to take multiple steps, because he is not holding it out very far. She asks, "Shall I open it now?"

"Please do, Cassandra."

"Thank you, Tom," she mumbles politely as she takes it from his hands.

"It's a new invention one of my acquaintances is working on commercializing," Tom explains as she takes the lid off the box. "A self-writing and self-inking quill that can also obey certain commands. You just dictate to it and it will write out your letters and such for you, and then you can command it to undo a certain portion or even copy entire documents."

"How wonderful," she says, looking up at him with a wide smile that, for the first time he thinks, seems genuine. It's the same smile she had when she was dancing with Rosier at the gala. He suddenly feels very warm - and very bad. Of course he knows he's bad, but he usually doesn't _feel_ bad about it.

He is in such a state of discombobulation that he feels the need to keep talking, "I just thought it might be helpful, since there's so much correspondence for your bus…"

"It will be. Thank you," she says again. He can see she is about to step away. He reaches out and grabs her hand to stop her.

"If I write you during the next three weeks, will you answer? Even if it's not… even if I don't ask for anything?"

"Why would you write me if you don't need anything?" she asks. He does not know if she is actually confused, if she is just pretending to avoid answering, or if she is just pretending to hurt him. She looks away quickly upon seeing he is busy examining her reaction, "I forgot to pay you. I will be back in a few…"

"I'll go with you."

* * *

He is skimming the first bookshelf, just barely turned toward her, when the sleeve of her robe slips too far down as she closes the drawer she had fetched his payment from. He turns to her all the way but she does not act as if she's noticed. She does not even flinch when he says sharply, "What was that?"

She walks around to the front of the desk nonchalantly, "Sorry, did you hear something? There's still some animals who keep trampling through the gardens. It was probably that."

He is angry. He is losing control. _That_. She had marked _herself_ with that. How dare she so openly defy him? How dare she think that boy was worthy of her skin? He is enraged enough that before she can turn to face him he has her by the throat, fingers pressing her back against him just hard enough to force her to control her breathing.

"You would be wise to think of the consequences before you defy me again. Show me your arm," he orders. She just shakes her head, which makes his blood boil more. "Put it on the table before I break it, Cass. And don't even think about trying to run away."

She obeys now, her pale white skin contrasting with the black marble. She knows she cannot get to her wand without him noticing and stopping her. She knows if she tries to curse him or defend herself, it will only escalate the situation - and he's already only a few centimeters away from completely cutting off her air supply. She should have watched him, should have reacted sooner, should have been ready. She curses herself for not realizing that the disillusionment charm had faded earlier. She curses herself for forgetting what a dangerous man can be like when he's unhappy.

He reaches out with the hand his wand is in, using it to push the sleeve of her robe up until he sees what he thought he had. A single small silver rose tattooed just below where her veins stop being visible on her wrist.

"One would think a woman like you would be more hesitant to mark herself as the plaything of a man," he hisses.

"One would think a man in your position shouldn't care if I do," she retorts. The hand around her throat tightens ever so slightly. She knows he does, and she knows why. He knows she knows because of the way her pulse races whenever he touches her.

"Well I do. As you have already been warned. Yet…" his wand presses down on the flower, covering up its bloom.

"You said not to put one of those roses against my skin again. I think this counts as on my skin, not against it. Technically, it's different."

"You don't think its worse that you choose to mare yourself with this ridiculous thing? What will you do when Rosier moves on, finds a woman he is actually willing to marry? One who isn't whispered about every time they are seen in public together?"

Tom knows he is willing to marry her. He had heard Lestrange teasing him about it at their last little meeting, before they had known he arrived. Regardless, she doesn't need to know he has entertained the thought.

"My choices are mine to make. Regardless of how unwise you or anybody else thinks they are," she replies.

Really, she had gotten the tattoo _because_ of him. Cain had been so disappointed about her not being willing to wear any jewelry with his family crest. She had tried to appease him by putting it there, where she could hide it with clothes or charms if she was out in public, so he could still see she was willing to be and wanted to be his.

"Your skin is not his playground," Tom hisses. "And I will not have you walking around with this silly thing showing what a silly little girl you are, little harpy."

A scream is ripped from her throat as searing pain spreads up her forearm. She is gasping, at least as much as she can with his hand still around her throat. She manages to whimper, "Please stop."

Merlin. She has never begged him before. The words sound so good coming from her. He smirks, letting go of her throat and dropping his wand off to the side as he admires his work, "Don't fret, all done."

Her breath catches as she catches sight of her arm. The silver rose has morphed into a green snake, bold and ornate against the pallor of her skin. She seems to regain some boldness herself, barking out, "Take it off."

"As I said, you would have been wise to think of the consequences before you defied me. I do not care if you are unhappy with them now."

"Unhappy is not the right word for how I feel about this - about you. Remove it."

"No. Don't try to remove it yourself either, or you'll face some even nastier repercussions."

"Please see yourself out of my house, Tom."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to wait to post this until Friday and make that my regular update schedule, but I was so touched by the response to the last chapter I decided to put it up sooner since I have a few chapters already written to get me through finals without an interruption to this story.
> 
> As always, I really want to hear everybody's thoughts - really, no matter what they are. Please help me out and leave a comment so I can continue to make the story better. Also kinda wondering if anybody actually listens to the songs I match with each chapter?


	10. A Multitude of Sins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like mother, like son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tom's Mood Song: I Want Some More by Dan Auerbach  
> Cassandra's Mood Song: feel something by Bea Miller

At first, she only responds to his letters with the date that the three weeks of freedom he had given her are up. But he had given her that before he'd done _that_. Before she'd looked at him with eyes that burned and talked to him with ice in her voice. Now, three weeks seems like an eternity, but he lets it pass anyway.

Then she simply stops responding at all. He contemplates waiting for her outside of Rosier's townhouse, or at the paper. Then he remembers the expression on her face as she told him to leave and decides to wait a few more days. To write a few more letters. Patience is a virtue and pain fades with time, he reminds himself. He shoves aside the retort that comes into his head every time he thinks this, though - the idea that hate does not. A lot of owls die for coming back empty-handed.

But he still has her other letters, the ones she does write to other people. That's what the quill really was. Not a gift. A spy. It copies everything she dictates to it or writes with it onto a roll of parchment on his desk. For the most part, he skims the resulting text for key information and then files it away. Until he sees a word that very much captures his attention. _Hogwarts_.

It is in a letter to Rosier. She clearly has not guessed the quill's real purpose, because the letter is not exactly fit for a third-party's eyes. Then again, neither had been the pictures she had purposefully set up that Witch Weekly reporter to take. Perhaps she has guessed the quill's purpose and is using it anyway to spite him.

The letter mentions that, as a thank you for a large donation she has made to the education charity which hosted the gala, Slughorn and the headmaster have invited her along to a special tour of the Hogwarts' grounds for its patrons during the winter holidays. She talks about how excited she is to see this formidable place that had been so significant to Cain and how happy she is that he is coming with her that weekend. She then goes on to suggest various places where it would be fun for them to sneak off to and relive some of his teenage memories.

Tom's favorite part?

_Maybe we can repeat that move from last weekend in one of the professor's offices. That was sublime. Getting spanked would probably be even better over one of your old teacher's desks while…_

Does he need to go on?

He could kill him right now. After all, she has already broken their deal.

But if he kills him he won't have anything to hold over her, and no doubt it will be more than just her eyes burning if she ever sees him again.

Instead, he drops in to Rosier's usual lunch spot the next day.

"Rosier, Lestrange. What a coincidence," Tom drawls as he walks up to their table. They all know it is not. The only surprising thing about this situation is that he's bothered to show up where they are instead of demanding their presence wherever is convenient for him. He sits down in the extra chair at the table - which, of course, he had already arranged to be put there this morning.

"Good afternoon, Tom," Lestrange answers despite the fact that Tom is not even remotely looking at him. Cain has gone very, very stiff across from him.

"Are you available this weekend, Rosier?" Tom asks, a friendly smile on his face as he stares the other man down.

"Not currently, but if you need…"

"What are you doing?" Tom asks, cutting him off.

His fingers are skimming the handle of the knife in the place setting in front of him absentmindedly. In his head, he is imagining driving it through one of Cain's perfect blue eyes. Not yet, he tells himself. There are other ways to scare her back, ways that won't guarantee she will keep hating him forever.

"Cassandra asked me to join her on a tour of Hogwarts that Slughorn arranged to thank her for a donation she made," Cain responds calmly, having collected himself enough to regain his usual aristocratic confidence.

"Interesting. Would she be disappointed if you couldn't make it?"

"I suspect so."

Tom's grip tightens around the knife momentarily at Cain's smug smile. Killing is off limits, but surely a little maiming wouldn't hurt. Slashing those pretty cheeks of his to destroy his good looks would be a decent start. Maybe cutting off something else to teach him a lesson for being such a prick.

No, he reminds himself. He has already invested all this time into buying her forgiveness. A more casual reminder of their deal is needed. A display of good faith, a showing that he can control himself and his anger, proof that he has learned his lesson and paid his penance. Besides, attacking one of his knights seemingly unprovoked is not conducive to maintaining their loyalty.

He drops the knife, not missing the change in Cain's posture, the way he rolls his shoulders and relaxes back in his chair. Tom smiles again, "Well, don't cancel on my account then. But do make sure she behaves herself, won't you? Hogwarts is a distinguished institution and it would be a shame if any of its halls - or desks - were sullied."

Cain goes visibly red. He mumbles back, "Of course. I will."

Tom stands, "Tell Cass I said hello, and that I hope she enjoys seeing the castle."

Cain watches Tom leave, waiting until the door has closed behind him before bringing a hand up to massage his temple and whispering, "Fuck."

He waves at a waiter and tips his head toward the bar - all that is necessary to convey his desires in a place he frequents as much as this one - before muttering again, "Fuck. Fucking fuck. I think he's going to kill me, Roland."

Lestrange shrugs and continues eating, "Why, the knife? He was just trying to scare you. If he actually meant anything by it, he would have pulled out his wand."

"You probably won't like reading this, but it's less crude and quicker than explaining it," Cain mumbles, picking up his briefcase and pulling the latest letter from her out of it.

Lestrange reads it over quickly, his eyebrows raising as he progresses. At the specific part being referenced, he actually erupts in laughter. Meanwhile, across the table, Cain's now taking swigs directly from the bottle of firewhisky that has just appeared.

"I'm sorry, it's just…" Lestrange croaks out between laughs. "He definitely read this somehow. Meaning Tom Riddle knows exactly how your girlfriend likes you to fuck her."

"Somehow, I cannot imagine _he_ was that amused by it," Cain responds with a scowl.

"Probably not, but it would hardly justify that."

"He wants to fuck her and she's fucking me. It's that simple."

"No, it's not. Cassandra won't fuck him if he hurts you. You know she likes being the only one that hurts you."

"She's not going to fuck him anyway," Cain mutters. He brings the bottle back up to his mouth for a few seconds before saying, "She hasn't been seeing him. At all, for weeks."

"Why not?"

"She wouldn't - there were finger marks on her neck. The second I brought him up she just said she had other appointments for the next few weeks."

"Get her to see him again, Cain."

"Did you hear me, Roland? He clearly attacked…"

"He will do much worse to you if she doesn't," Lestrange responds sternly, prompting a glare from Cain. Before the other man can protest he says, "Don't look at me like that. You know that's what he was really saying too."

* * *

Cassandra gives the barn owl a treat as she throws the letter it delivered into the pile of them on the armchair in the corner. Another letter from him. She has to admit Tom Riddle's ability to not give up is impressive. Eventually, she thinks, the pile may get big enough that they will spill over the sides and start crashing to the ground.

Really, she knows he will run out of patience before that happens. The letters are a kindness, in their own way, and the kindness of a man like that is a fickle thing. She remembers how he had put their agreement that day: _Our appointments resume, and I won't bother Rosier for seeing you._ Actually, she never forgets his words, because she can still feel the mark he left burning against her skin.

At least she can conceal the mark with disillusionment charms and long sleeves. At least she doesn't have to look at it. What she hadn't been able to conceal were his fingerprints on her neck. She doesn't know what kind of uncontrolled magic had poured out of him for that to happen, for them to be impervious to healing spells and potions and disillusionment charms and every single other thing she had tried. In the end, it had been two weeks before they naturally faded away enough that they stopped catching her eye in the mirror.

Cain had seen them and hadn't asked. She had a feeling he knew and somehow that was even worse than if he'd made her tell him. He knew and he still talked to that prick. He knew and he didn't even react, didn't even ask if she was alright. They just pretended nothing was wrong.

She sighs and picks the letter up again. She won't invite him back. Not here, not after that. But she cannot just wait until his patience runs out, because she has a feeling that whatever scars he inflicts at that point won't be so easy to ignore.

She opens this one, which is already more than she did for the others. All he writes is that another chest has come in to the shop and he needs to know when he can come by for an appointment. She throws it aside and picks up her quill and a fresh piece of her stationary:

_If you leave him alone, I will do whatever you ask - except for seeing you. I will respond to your letters. I will lend you books. I will give you information. I will make you potions. I will meet people. I will carry out business. You can have whatever help you need to achieve whatever it is you are aiming for, Mr. Riddle, but you cannot have me. I hope you will accept this extremely generous offer as I hardly see how my physical presence in your presence is necessary._

She is surprised when his reply comes an hour or so later, as she is packing for the weekend's trip. She can't imagine what kind of owl would be able to travel quickly enough to deliver her note and his response in that amount of time.

_We have a deal, Cassandra. A deal for your physical presence in my presence, as you put it. There is no changing that. If you want me to honor it, then you must too. Consider our entente off until our next appointment . Do let me know when that will be, Cass. - Sincerely, Tom._

The truce is officially over then. She curses and lights the letter on fire. She no longer bothers sorting what she is packing and carefully putting it to in her bag. Instead, she runs around the house, the trunk following her, spelling whatever she thinks she might need into it. Only thirty minutes pass before she floos to London. It is 4 p.m. there, which means she expects to find the house empty. She wonders if they'll even let her into the ministry. No matter, she can always wait outside to make sure he doesn't try to get to Cain first.

Instead, as soon as she stumbles out, she sees Cain sitting at his desk reviewing documents. She takes a deep breath before she says, "I wasn't sure if you'd be home yet. I just finished packing and was wondering if we might be able to leave early?"

Better to be somewhere Tom cannot find him as soon as possible, she thinks. Then she'll have the weekend to come up with a plan, at least. Maybe longer if she can find some excuse to stay with him for the week.

"Sure. Just wrapping up some paperwork. I will send it back to the ministry in a few and get my things," he answers. He looks her over, taking in her disheveled hair and the red tint in her cheeks. "Is something wrong, Cass?"

She forces a smile, "No, nothing. I'm just excited for our trip."

He hums and turns back to his work before adding, "Tom said hello, by the way."

"What?"

"We ran into each other at lunch a few days ago."

"Did he say anything else?"

"Just that he hopes you enjoy the tour of Hogwarts."

"Oh, how nice of him. You mentioned that we were going?" she asks. She thinks she is keeping the panic from her voice, but he has known her since they were children - he knows what she normally sounds like, and none of this is anywhere near the realm of normal. "You know, I just remembered that there's a renowned wizard-run bed and breakfast just outside Inverness I read about once. Perhaps we could stay the night there?"

"I already made reservations in Hogsmeade, Cass," he says, looking up at her again. She is pacing back and forth across from his desk. The way her eyes scan him is enough to worry him, even though she looks away quickly. Tom definitely has something planned. He wonders if she knows what it is and isn't telling him.

"Sounds lovely," she says with fake enthusiasm. "How long did you say that paperwork was going to take?"

"It's turning out to be a bit more complicated than I anticipated," he says. It's not, he just can't seem to focus on it right now. "Maybe another hour, if you don't mind?"

"No, not at all. I am just going to pop out to a shop for a bit, if that's alright?"

So she's going to take care of whatever it is herself then.

He nods and forces a smile. She stops by his desk and gives him a kiss on her way out the door. He holds onto her waist and mumbles, "Be careful out there, Cass. London can be dangerous."

"I will," she responds with a smile, slipping out of his grasp.

* * *

"Good evening, Borgin. Is Mr. Riddle still here?" she blurts out as soon as she walks into the store. She realizes she doesn't know where else she would find him, and Borgin is already closing up the shutters.

"I believe so. In his office. Down the back hallway just past mine, Ms. Alexander. What was it…?"

"Just had some questions about an item," she calls back, already rushing away. Once she reaches the door with his name on it, she jiggles the nob but finds it is locked. She fumbles in her robe for her wand, but looks up when she hears it open first.

Tom stares down at her, seeming to take a second to register who he is looking at.

"Cassandra," he says, as if confirming to himself the identity of his visitor.

"What do you want?" she seethes.

He pulls her into his office swiftly. He shuts the door behind her and then pushes her against it, moving in close enough to her that if she did manage to find her wand with how flustered she is now, she would barely have room to lift it.

"I think my letter made that clear already," he says gruffly, leaning down toward her. He is not sure if it's the fact that she is slightly wet from the rain outside or the fact that it's been almost two months since he was last close to her, but her smell is assaulting him right now.

"I mean to leave me alone," she snaps. "What do you want? There must be a price. There's a price for everything. There must be something…"

It is his hand gripping her hip that seems to make her lose her voice instantaneously. His lips are right by her ear as he hisses, "I am not leaving you alone, Cass. Under any circumstances. As I am sure you already know."

"Fuck you, Tom," she spits, a hand raising to his chest to try to push him away.

He grabs her hand and pushes it too back against the door before hissing, "Trust me, it would be better than fucking him."

"That's not…" she begins to protest. His lips slide over and meet hers.

Fuck, she's _sweet_. Like the chocolates he used to steal from the other orphans. He has to stop himself from plunging forward even further, from devouring her.

This was not the plan. He was going to wait for her to come around. But it's been too many months since he met her, and too many weeks during those months have been spent without her, and he has lost his patience.

He pulls away for a second, but her lips part to say something and he instantly loses his self-control as well as his logic. He pushes against her again, his tongue flicking in to her mouth to absorb the taste of her before she can close it. His hand slips from hers and into her hair. He pulls her head back and moves his lips to her neck, feeling her pulse racing under them. He wants to eat her alive, every delicious inch of her.

"You are hurting me," she says through gritted teeth.

"You deserve it for not replying to me," he fires back.

Despite this, he pulls his lips off of her. He releases his hold on her hip. He lets go of her hair, his hand slipping down to her shoulder so he can pad his thumb across the marks he left on her neck instead. He feels her stiffen, feels her breath stop, and removes that hand too, pressing it against the door near her side.

"Name a new price for his safety, because I am declining the current one," she commands.

"That's not an option," he says. She laughs softly while still glaring up at him.

"Is that what gets you off, forcing girls to fuck you?"

"I don't want to force you to do anything, Cass."

"You _don't_ want to force me to do anything? Isn't that what you've been doing this entire time? Every time I try to get away from you, you force me back."

"I am giving you a choice -"

"Start fucking you or you'll curse him?"

"Keep seeing me or stop seeing him."

"And what does seeing you include? Because I definitely was not under the impression that it included being physically assaulted when we first made our deal."

If she is looking for an apology, she is not going to get it. He had been provoked. It was that boy's fault, not his. Instead, he makes a promise that he knows will not be easy for him to keep, "I won't hurt you like that again, Cass."

"And this?"

"As I said, I don't want to force you."

"But you want it to be an option?"

"Obviously."

"It's not."

"Why not?"

Tom notices the way she hesitates before answering, "Because I'm dating…"

He cuts her off, smirking, "Why does that matter?"

"Apart from the fact that I wouldn't be here right now otherwise?"

"Yes, apart from that."

She falls silent, eyes narrowed up at him. That's what he thought. He captures her lips again, forcing himself to stay restrained this time. He puts his hands on her waist and leads them stumbling back toward his desk, magicking it clean before turning them around and pushing her down to sit on it. His hand is about to slip under her dress when she pulls away.

"Fuck," she mumbles, long and low, as his lips traverse her neck again. "Stop."

This feels too good, like every nerve in her body is part of an electric circuit and his fingertips and lips are the switch turning on the current through them. It feels sinful. A mortal should not be able to look so much like a statute of a greek god, or move his tongue like that, or control the pressure of his fingers with such delicacy. It feels dangerous - which she knows it is, which she knows he is. Which is why she tells him to stop, a feat that takes all her energy because her mind is abuzz and coherent thoughts are hard to find.

"You don't really want that, do you, Cass?" he teases, his fingers still running up and down her leg.

She takes a breath, pulling herself together, forcing herself to focus on him instead of the feeling of him. How smug he looks, how sure he seems that she will give in to him right then and there.

"You can't use him to get close to me and then do _this_. That isn't fair, Tom," she scoffs.

It is the gleam of anger in his eye at the mention of Cain that brings her crashing back to reality once and for all, reminding her that Tom Riddle is a bad man. Does the fact that she is a bad woman make it more or less like that they will tear each other apart by the end of whatever this is?

"Fair?" he snarls. "You and I both know life isn't fair. In order to keep anything, you have to be able to protect it. I can protect you, Cass."

"I don't want you."

"You mean you don't want to hurt him."

"I mean I don't want you."

"Yes, you do. I can feel it, Cass."

"That's not the same thing."

"So you don't want me, but you do want to fuck me?"

He does not know whether to laugh or scream.

He has dreamed about her every night since that day. At first, he thought it was a trick of the potion she made. He'd switched back to his own, despite the fact that it didn't work nearly as well, but the dreams had only gotten more intense. Not that the contents are anything intense in the first place really; not the kind of dreams one expects a man to have about a woman. They are things like them sitting in her library and talking for hours about a book they both read, or sitting on the same side of the table at a restaurant and exchanging observations on the other people there.

He had stopped taking any potion at all, but then he'd found himself craving sleep, craving the feeling of being with her, and he'd give in and spend hours under the effects of a sleeping draught. Sometimes several, if he felt he woke up too soon.

All those weeks, she had thought she was pushing him away. Really, she was only pushing him deeper into obsession, stoking the burning flame of _want_ inside of him, turning it into a forest fire that would burn forever through what was left of his soul. Even if she was willing to give and give and give - in hopes of satisfying him, boring him, tiring him - there would never be enough water to put it out.

"No, I don't _want_ to," she answers, and he cannot help but focus on the disgust evident in her features. He cannot help but wish he'd stabbed Cain through the heart.

His fingers dig into the skin of her thigh a little harder. He commands, "Let's stop playing a game of semantics. What's your choice, little harpy?"

She bites her lip to think. Then, she catches sight of the clock on his wall, "I have to go."

"Right, to frolic around my old stomping grounds with him. Perhaps I'll get the headmaster to send me an invitation so _I_ can be the one to fuck you on one of the professor's desks. I know the perfect desk, too," Tom spits out with a bitter chuckle.

Had he made Cain show him the letter? She wouldn't put it past him. She also wouldn't put actually showing up past him.

He interrupts her thought process by asking again, "Your choice?"

"I need to think about it."

He is in a decidedly better mood, and she seems to be taking advantage of it. She will come back, he thinks. She won't leave Cain, regardless of how badly she wants to leave him. He will make sure Cain does not leave, so she really has no choice in the matter.

And if she doesn't, there's magic that will force her back. He does not want to resort to that. He wants it to be real, their connection. But that does not mean he won't use it if there isn't another way.

"A week, Cass. If I don't hear from you after that, the next time I hear about him seeing you, I _will_ react."

She takes a deep breath before nodding. It's safety for now. It's temporary, but peace of mind for a few days is better than spending the entire weekend with her wand in her hand. Maybe she can convince Cain to move to New York after all. Probably better to convince him to move somewhere she hasn't mentioned to Tom before.

Who is she kidding? The words " _I will always find a way, no matter what you try"_ ring inside her head as she leaves the store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thank you for reading. If you have a second, I would really appreciate some feedback in the form of a comment :) 
> 
> Also, if anybody is interested, I am thinking of getting a beta reader for this story because I spent wayyy too long editing this chapter (and I am sure I still missed some things).


	11. Let Your Heart Rule

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life never runs out of things that can go wrong, no matter who you are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood Song: when the party's over by Billie Eilish

Cain Rosier had what most people would call the perfect childhood. A huge house, every toy and thing he ever even momentarily wished for, parents and house elves dotting on him every second of the day, a younger sibling to boss around.

His mother was the toast of the pureblood scene, known far and wide for throwing all of the best parties. His father was a free spirit who spent the majority of his time collecting and restoring old brooms, plus occasionally inventing a new one when the mood struck him. Not for the profits, of course. Mostly for the flying lessons between father and son that were an almost daily occurrence in their house. If Cain wanted to celebrate whatever random holiday he had read about or just because, his mother would throw it. If Cain wanted a broom that would do something better, his father would tinker until he had the solution.

Especially as the only boy, the male heir to the English line, he was loved and spoiled by everyone. Revered by even the general public. A golden boy. A pureblood prince in the making. Sure, there had been the whole trouble with his aunt being discovered very openly supporting the family's favorite ideology. As his branch of the family had never been openly political, having for centuries preferred more cultured pursuits than democracy and dueling, they were quickly freed of any scrutiny, even as they secretly sent money and knowledge overseas to support the noble cause.

He hadn't known what her childhood - what her life - was really like until they were 14, despite knowing each other since they were five. They were best friends because she, too, always seemed so carefree. In those days, she was always smiling, always offering some topic of conversation or proposing some entertainment, even when meeting people for the first time. As children, they would goof off together, inventing stories. As emerging teenagers, they would compete to see who was better at which spells and games, making the most of the short summer months they both had away from school. As actual teenagers, he appreciated that she did not grow one bit more demure, unlike the rest of the girls that tried to foist themselves on him.

His father had been the first one to mention it, at breakfast one day.

"Another letter from Malecrit," he'd complained to his mother, "Another investment gone to waste, and another proposed. He already squandered away their fortune, if he thinks I'm going to give him any more of mine to waste he's really gone insane."

His mother had just responded with a terse " _later_ , dear," but Cain could tell she was watching to see his reaction.

His father did wait until later - precisely, until he was out with Cain helping him with quidditch drills. All he said was, "Your mother's trying to give Cassandra the apartment in Paris for school holidays. Tell her to take it next time she visits. She can't live with those people anymore, son."

He didn't elaborate, leaving Cain to ask her himself when they were laying out on the lawn, staring at the night sky, that Saturday. The others had all snuck off into the hedge maze to play kissing tag. She didn't want to play. She never wanted to play those kinds of games.

"Is everything alright, Cassandra?" he asked tentatively, turning to face her.

"Wonderful, Cain," she responds, not looking over at him. "You can play if you want. I don't mind being alone."

"I mean at home, Cass. Is everything alright?"

"Who told you?" she snaps, smile quickly slipping from her face.

"Nobody… I overheard my parents, it was barely anything. Is everything alright, Cass?"

"I don't want to talk about it," she insists, still facing the sky instead of him.

"You would like Paris," he tries. "There's a bookstore right around the corner."

"Thank you, but your family has been generous enough already," she says in a polite tone, though the way she is pressing her lips together reveals her real mood.

"Cass, you can tell me anything."

"No, I can't."

"Why not?"

"You wouldn't understand, Cain."

"Why don't you think so?"

"Someone like you wouldn't understand. You're perfect. Your life is perfect."

"You underestimate me, Cass. Tell me. Please."

She finally looks at him and those earnest blue eyes must convince her, because she does. At first, it isn't anything too unusual. Her mother had depression, not uncommon among those pureblood wives stuck in unhappy marriages. But this was different. Delusions. Attempts at harm. Not just self-harm. She'd tried to smother her in her sleep more than once, and worse, more violent things she wouldn't say. Her father had reacted to this by spending what little they had left on tramps and traveling.

And to fund his lifestyle when funds got especially low? He'd throw dinners for his "friends" - dinners where she was expected to be a very participatory guest. Basically bidding her company off to men easily three times her age. Never more than flirting, she swore, though one had almost kissed her once and it had been awful. After all, a pureblood wife is no good unless she is pure, and her father was ever vigilant about making sure of that. He would visit her at school at least once a month to force her to drink veritaserum and question her about how she'd spent her time, with extensive sessions of legilimency as back up just in case. She was immune to both now, she revealed, though she pretended to go along with it anyway. Survival has always been her strongest motivator.

Her parents had never once said they loved her, she admits, and she is nearly crying. Even before everything went really wrong side up. This fact alone seems to hurt her more than all of the things they'd done to her. Cain pulls her into a hug, laying her head against his chest as he runs a hand through her hair.

It was only through the money his mother sent for her birthdays - money she carefully hid away - that she could afford to buy books and clothes for each term. Aided with a handy repertoire she had developed of mending spells for her things and healing spells for her, she could still manage to look perfect, to look like she fit in with the rest of their pureblood pack, when the reality was anything but.

But that was it, she insists. All she would take. Just enough for school, nothing more. She can handle herself. She doesn't need help.

"Please, so I know you're safe," he begs her.

"As if they won't be able to find me there anyway," she points out.

"I'll stay with you then," he declares.

She actually giggles a bit, "That would be a scandal."

"Then stay here," he offers. "For the rest of the summer at least."

"Another scandal," she says, an eyebrow raised. "What would your future betrothed think? Some of the girls here would be absolutely hysterical at the news."

"I'll stay in the Paris apartment with Lestrange and I'll buy you the one across from it. That way I can be there if you need anything and Roland can testify to your modesty."

"Your desire to be Prince Charming knows no bounds, does it?" she teases, finally cracking a smile again.

"Not if you're my Cinderella," he responds, only half-joking.

"You can tell your mother you convinced me," she says before shifting into a seated position beside him on the grass. "Now go and play. I'm pretty sure Greengrass nearly started crying in disappointment when you decided to stay."

"I don't want to go, Cass," he says, looking up at her. What he wants to do is put his head in her lap, but he knows she will run away if he does, and he doesn't want her to be the one to join the game.

"Come on. You don't want to disappoint her, do you, Cain?" she presses, a playful smile on her face, but he knows from her tone she won't give up until he does as she says.

It is the next summer that she meets that mudblood, that he watches them kiss on the beach and wants to wring the boy's neck. He imperios him into leaving after he catches them again, extremely grateful for Tom's extra lessons at that moment. Afterward, he wishes he'd used another unforgivable instead, because she is in a mood for a week, but she returns to her normal self in time for his birthday.

She even agrees to be his date for the ball his mother throws, and he thinks she is finally going to let him kiss her that night. Instead, she pushes him away again when he dances too close, all but offering him up on a plate to one of the Blacks who monopolizes his company for what feels like hours. When he finally manages to catch her alone again, she jokes that the girl had been her birthday gift to him and chides him for wasting it. They go out for a walk and sit on the grass again. When she puts her head in his lap and does not pull away from him when he holds her hand, he forgives her.

His mother visits his room after the party to say good night and warn him not to try to sneak out of it now that he is 16. His mother says Cassandra looked stunning and, despite everything, managed to turn herself into a true lady, charming and talented and the slightest bit daring. Absolutely _rosy_ , she says with a wink and Cain smiles.

Cassandra shows up to their Christmas dinner by herself because she is the only one from her family invited. Their guest of honor is Headmaster Dippet and she talks to him all through dinner - by the end, the man is talking about special exceptions to transfer to Hogwarts. Cain saves her by pulling her outside to see the snow falling and they walk through the maze, her shoulders wrapped in his cloak and her hand wrapped in his. When they attempt to take temporary shelter in the gazebo in the center and find an enchanted mistletoe hovering in the air above them, he laughs.

"I swear this wasn't me," he says, turning toward her.

"We should -" she says, trying to run away again, of course.

He pulls her in before she can turn around, his lips crashing into hers as his hands come up to her jaw and his fingers tangle in her hair. He kisses her for all those missed kisses when she got away before he could, and he is not sure if it is his lips constantly dancing against hers or if it is the moment itself that is taking his breath away.

She pulls away too soon - _always_ too soon - but his hands find her waist and his strong arms, his youngest quidditch captain and highest scoring chaser in Hogwarts history arms, stop her from increasing the distance between them.

"Cass, please," he begs, voice hoarse. "You know, you must know by now."

"I'm sorry, I…" she starts.

He knows the excuse coming out of her mouth already, knows it's really going to be a demand for him to take it all back, to find an excuse of his own instead of what he's about to say.

"I love you."

"We're 16, Cain. Nobody really falls in love at 16."

"I didn't fall in love at 16. I fell in love at 14 and it took me this long to say it. I love you," he presses, for once not backing down at the slightest discomfort she shows, emboldened by the taste of her mouth still in his and the wine he'd had at dinner.

"No, you don't," she argues back. "You can't."

He kisses her again to show her he does, the feeling of her lips responding to his inspiring him to wrap his arms around her. He is the one to pull away this time, just as he feels he is about to faint, and he thinks that means she's started to believe him.

Instead, she touches his cheek softly as she mumbles, "You don't love me just because you want to kiss me, Cain."

"I love you because you are the only person in the world I have ever or will ever want," he whispers, voice as raw as his soul.

Her hand falls to his shoulder, her eyes fall from his to the ground, as she says, "You're meant to be with someone like Greengrass, not someone like me. Not your family's charity case."

Did she think up all of these excuses in advance, or is she really this good at coming up with such fucking bullshit on the spot?

"I _want_ to be with you," he implores. "Cass, please stop looking for a reason to ruin this."

"I don't want to ruin it, it's just…"

"I don't expect you to say it back, if that's what you're worried about."

"You should. You're amazing, Cain. You don't deserve me mucking your life up."

"Even if that's what I want, Cass?"

"The world isn't built on wants," she says softly. She leans forward and presses her lips against his again and he grasps for her, hands pressing against her back, fingers bunching around the fabric of her dress, _begging_ to never let go - but it is all in vain, because when her lips pull back to hover over his, what she whispers is, "Can we still be friends?"

His chest compresses as he sucks his breath in, and it feels like his heart is being crushed under his ribs. He knows she can read the devastation on his face and yet her expression does not change. She does not move one centimeter away, and he does not let go. His lips brush against hers as he answers, "We'll always be friends, Cass."

He kisses her again and she lets him, lets him have his fill while his heart keeps splitting into pieces beneath her hands, until their lips are swollen and practically all he can think about is more that she will not give. Then he walks her back, still hand in hand. She floos away to some unknown place, and he ignores the look his mother gives him as he collapses against the fireplace, tears bubbling in those blue eyes.

Two months later, he hears she's run away with the mudblood. He spends the entire afternoon flying in the freezing air, endless laps around the quidditch pitch, until he can't feel anything anymore. He wishes he was bold enough to kill him when he had the chance. If only he had the innate cruelty of Tom, or the logical ruthlessness of Lestrange, instead of what he does have - a soft, _soft_ soul, too delicate for the world outside the gates of ancient mansions.

If he could go back and do it all differently, he would. He would make sure she never spoke a word to that mudblood. Hell, he would probably make sure his parents offerred a betrothal to hers far earlier to ensure she knew she would be taken care of and wouldn't run away like that with someone else. But what he would really like to change would be everything he'd done after that in fifth year.

See, there was a reason why he and the others could not leave _their lord_ now. Back when they were only 16 and didn't understand consequences lasted a lifetime, Tom had offerred them all a favor. When he opened the chamber, he had given them all the ability to pick one victim for the basilisk. Just to petrify them, they had thought. Just to scare them away from the school and the wizarding world. He had them all write the names down and send them to him, so nobody would catch them discussing it in public, supposedly. In reality, it was so that he had evidence against them if they ever tried to turn on him.

Cain picked Myrtle Warren. The girl had a huge crush on him and he was getting quite annoyed with it. In addition, being a mudblood and being obsessed with any handsome man who she saw, she was also quite vocal about that mudblood. The one he hated. Duke Nikola Alexander. He wasn't anything of note to the wizarding press, but from the way she talked he seemed to be everywhere in the muggle one. Always pictured with some girl she was so jealous of. His Cassandra.

Of course that was the one Tom decided to kill. Or accidentally killed. It was never totally clear. Tom had said it was an accident, but it never felt like one - because it felt like he knew, after that, that he owned Cain even more than he owned all of the others. If Tom went down, Cain went with him. And if Cain went down, all the other purebloods did too, a tower toppled by the loss of its figurehead. Maybe now, 10 years later, it would be something he could explain away, could get to go away with a little bribery and evidence tampering. _Maybe_.

So what choice did he have when he sat at home alone, waiting for her to return from her visit to him? What choice did he ever have, really, while Tom was ingraining himself into their life? He had the one thing he wanted most - the one thing he had ever truly wanted - but he was not going to risk everything else for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was not supposed to be its own chapter at first, but it ended up way too long to combine with other scenes as I was originally intending. Hopefully you all still found it interesting even though Tom wasn't involved. As always, I would love it if you would leave a comment to let me know what you think :)
> 
> Truly though, a comment would really help stop me from slipping further into melancholy as I try to power through to my last final and somehow scramble together a remote summer job while still sheltered-in-place with only my dear love to stop me from going 100% off the rails. Seriously, I am now legitimately nocturnal and if I don't find anything else to do my summer project will be finally adopting a cat. Save me from myself.


	12. Giving the Game Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra decides to do a little research before deciding whether to be Tom's opposition or his ally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Mood Song: i should be happy by lovelytheband

The castle is just as beautiful and just as magnificent as everyone says. To be honest though, Cassandra is a bit bored. There's only one reason she "anonymously" donated to the charity after the gala through a letter to Slughorn. Yes, that reason was to get inside this bloody castle - but not to spend hours idly rooming its halls and staircases hearing about this or that famous professor. She walks next to Cain, escorted by Professor Slughorn and a Professor Dumbledore she has just met for the first time today. She oohs and aahs at every interesting - to them - fact that they share, asks questions about the subjects they teach, and elicits stories on Cain's memories of Hogwarts. But none of these things capture her attention long enough to be worth embedding in her memory.

Finally, they reach the trophy room and there is _something_ that catches her attention. An Award for Special Services to the School for one Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Her first instinct when she sees it is to laugh, "Riddle has a middle name?"

Cain gives her a curious look before answering, "Yes. He doesn't really use it."

She holds back her real smile to look polite, "Professor Slughorn, would you mind elaborating on why Mr. Riddle received this award? Somehow he has never mentioned it before."

Slughorn tells her the story, which she nods along to animatedly, expressing her admiration at all the right moments. Something seems… strange about it. Like the pieces don't quite fit. Perhaps it is just unnatural for her to think of Tom as a hero.

She continues browsing the trophy room until her attention is pulled away from her search as Professor Dumbledore catches up to her. He is smiling down at her, but the bluntness of his question makes her doubt his sincerity, "How do you know Mr. Riddle?"

"As I am sure you recall, he and Cain are friends," she says, returning a similar smile.

"Yes, I do," the professor remarks.

He is about to go on when Slughorn interrupts their conversation, "I thought Tom mentioned he met you through the shop, Ms. Malecrit?"

"Yes, we met through the shop at first. It just happened to be a coincidence that I already knew Cain and came to get to know his friends over the last few months, including Mr. Riddle, allowing us to develop a more personal connection."

She catches the younger professor staring at her. She thinks she can now guess whose desk Tom was referring to yesterday. When she meets his eyes, she swears they are twinkling. His smile has dropped noticeably as he says, "It seems like Tom and you would have quite a bit in common."

"The similarities must be very stunning for them to strike someone who has only known me for such a short while," she quips back. "Personally, I am more prone to seeing our differences, I suppose."

They reach another display case and another mention of his name, this time on a badge. Of course, there had been many mentions of his names on the lists of well-scoring students on exams and top ranking students in their classes, but these she hardly considered to be of note. He had told her he did rather well in school, after all. She was more interested in the things he hadn't told her. Like that he had been Head Boy. It seemed an obvious choice, in hindsight. He did like to be first in everything, after all, and he certainly seemed to have earned that place.

She ponders the display case, pretending to read the names of other students. Luckily, Professor Dumbledore seems to have shied away from her following her previous comment. She waits until Cain is sufficiently far away before she directs another question to Slughorn.

"I hope it's not seen as rude to ask… but I wouldn't want to bring up anything directly and offend him, professor… Tom seems to have done remarkably well in school. Normally such top students are recruited by the ministry."

"He didn't qualify for any of the prestigious career-track programs, what with the statutes they had in place until Grindelwald fell and everything was reformed," Slughorn blurts out. As soon as he finishes his sentence he seems to realize he may have shared something that he shouldn't have, because he turns noticeably reader, "At which point, he had already committed to other pursuits. I think it was a bit of a disappointment for him - please don't mention it."

"Of course I won't, professor. Thank you for letting me know. As Tom would excel in any pursuit he chose, I really think the ministry are the ones missing out," she replies with a wide smile to put him at ease. He does seem to calm, but he scuttles away quickly nonetheless, probably sensing that she has more questions she is waiting for the right time to ask.

She knows the statutes he was referring to. The ones that limited all but the most dull career-track ministry posts to purebloods, and certain halfbloods who could prove long enough magical origins, enacted with the wave of elitist sentiment that supported Grindelwald's rise and overthrown by popular consensus at his defeat. Which was more than strange, considering Lestranges and Notts, not to mention Rosiers, did not make friends with halfbloods - or worse.

The professors excuse themselves to prepare for dinner, so it is just the two of them for the rest of the day. Cain surprises her out of her thoughts by taking her hand, "Come on, Cass. Let me show you our common room."

She lets him lead her down through the dungeons. He stops at what looks like a blank wall and utters the password Slughorn gave him. She has to admit the way the wall opens up is a bit impressive. She needs to learn how that's done. They walk into a room filled with green-blue light filtering through the large windows all around, decorated with velvet and leather in dark and emerald tones. There is a large stone fireplace across from the entrance, fronted by two enormous black leather sofas. Smaller clusters of tables and chairs fill the rest of the room.

He smirks at her mischievously as he continues pulling her along through the room and down another staircase. Another three flights down and down a hallway, he stops at the last door and spells it open. It's a room with five four-poster beds beds, two arranged on either side of the walls and one at the very end directly across from the door. He leads her around the small reflecting pool in the very middle and to the second bed on the right side.

"This was mine. Lestrange was on the left, Nott across from him, Avery across from me, and Riddle up there," he says as he points to the beds around them.

"How unwise of them to put all the troublemakers in one room," she teases, stepping closer to him.

He pulls her in for a kiss, "Shame you didn't go to Hogwarts. You could have busied yourself foiling all our plots."

"I think it might have been a good thing for both of us, since it is much more likely I would have wanted to join in your plots," she says with a laugh and kisses him again, "Not to mention I'm sure girls aren't allowed in here, and I'm sure you would have sneaked me in all too often for us to go unnoticed."

He pulls her back onto the bed, hovering over her as he kisses her again and again. He is not thinking as he mutters, "Yeah, I'm sure Tom would have docked about a billion points if he'd caught you in my bed."

She ignores the sinking feeling in her gut and waves her hand to spell the curtains shut. She jokes, "Look how easy that problem would have been to solve."

Too bad it is not so easy to solve now, they both think.

Too bad he's not here now, Cain thinks. He would love to make her scream in front of him. He flips them over, pulling her on top of his hips and starting to untie the neck of her dress. His hands move onto the buttons, and as the top falls open he leans up and starts kissing her skin.

"We shouldn't," she mumbles between shaky breathes.

"Then why'd you wear something so easy to slip off, Cass?" he hums against her flesh. His fingers slip under her skirt and make her shiver, "It seems like you want to."

She giggles, hands tangling through his brown hair and reaching for his chin to pull him up and kiss his lips again. She whispers, "Trust me, I want to - but we shouldn't."

"Afraid we'll get caught?" he teases, pulling her hips down against his as they kiss again.

"Maybe," she answers seriously, staring into his blue eyes.

Maybe it will be better for him if she starts stopping this now. She does not want to hurt him, but maybe the pain will be less if it is a gradual fading. She cannot imagine how hurt he will be if he finds out what happened with Tom - or worse, if she decides to leave instead of risking it happening again. Cain doesn't _deserve_ either of those things. He has never been anything but kind to her, never done anything but care for her. Disappearing will break his heart again. Letting Tom have what he wants will break his heart again. Neither is fair to him.

None of it is fair, but Tom is right - life isn't fair, and in order to keep anything, you have to be able to protect it. She's going to protect him.

She kisses him again and doesn't protest as his lips move down her body. She wants to be fucked by him, wants to revel in being wanted and being loved and being someone's _everything_.

She throws her head back as he kisses her neck. She is just about to unzip his pants when he pulls back suddenly.

"You're right. We should wait," he mumbles. He rolls them back over and stands up. He can see her staring at him in surprise but just bites his lip and focuses on fixing his shirt.

What is he supposed to say? You missed one? Is Tom the one that gave you that hickey below your ear? Well, he definitely knows the answer to that one considering he knows he wasn't the one who put it there, but it's not exactly something he wants to hear out loud anyway. He doesn't want a confirmation, doesn't want to talk about the danger they are both in, doesn't want to know if she thinks it's _danger_ or something more.

He just wants everything to be perfect, like he always imagined it would be once he had her.

She sits up to tie her dress again without a word. He leans over and lifts her chin. Before he kisses her, he whispers, "I love you, Cass."

She just smiles and stands up.

* * *

It is later, when they are back at the inn, that Cassandra decides to embark on the string of questioning she has been planning. She does not like that Tom seems to know more about her than she does him. Time to fix that.

She knows asking Cain about what exactly Tom does and what exactly they are all doing around him would be a step too far, sure to end the conversation immediately, because she can sense that is something only Tom himself has permission to tell people. So she decides to start earlier. Much earlier.

She is brushing her hair and watching him through the vanity mirror when she asks idly, "You all met Riddle at school?"

Cain looks up from the report he is reading in bed and just says, "Yes."

"So?"

"What?"

"He must have come from somewhere."

"He doesn't like to talk about that," Cain says tersely before turning back to his reading.

"I figured, that's why I didn't ask him. That's why I asked you," she says with a smile.

"He doesn't like us to talk about it either."

"That's ridiculous. People don't appear out of nowhere. If I looked for records, surely I would be able to -"

"There probably aren't any records. Probably burned up in the war," he says quickly. He already knows this is too far, but he cannot help it. He just wants her to stop asking about him.

"Why would Grindelwald attack a records hall?" she asks, purposefully letting her surprise show, though she remembers his memory of the bombs and knows what Cain must have been referring to.

"Not Grindelwald."

"You mean he's a mudblood?"

"No, of course not," Cain scoffs.

"How do you know he's not if there are no records?"

"Because we know he's not," he replies sharply.

"Then why would his records be affected by a muggle war?" she retorts, not stopping despite his clearly annoyed expression.

He sighs. He knows he is going to tell her, and he knows it is more out of spite than anything. He still knows he shouldn't, "His mother was a witch in very bad circumstances. She died giving birth to him. On the doorsteps of a muggle orphanage."

Her eyes widen. He watches her expression carefully. He thought it would be disgust. She hates poverty, hated being in it and hates any reminders of it. Instead, he recognizes it as sadness. Maybe sympathy. Perhaps even understanding.

"And his father?" she asks.

Cain just shrugs, "He never said anything about him. I assume he doesn't know."

"That doesn't make any sense. If his mother's dead, how does he - how do you - know she was a witch?"

"Because, among other things, mudbloods don't get sorted into Slytherin, Cass."

"Among what other things?"

"Other things that aren't any of your business, Cass," he says sternly. It is unlike him to refuse to tell her something, but he knows what had happened with the chamber is not something that he can share no matter how unhappy with his master he is.

"Well where did his name come from then? Riddle. Was it his mother's name or his father's?" she pushes, too caught up in her own excitement to know when to stop.

"He never said."

"It's not like any wizarding name I have ever heard."

"I don't know, Cass."

"He doesn't know his own parent's names?"

"He's a bloody orphan, Cass."

"Still, someone at the orphanage must have known - must have mentioned."

"His mother died seconds after giving birth. Don't think she had much time to share her life story with them."

"So the orphanage gave him the name? That would be a strange choice, wouldn't it?"

"Stop asking questions, Cass. He doesn't like questions about it."

"Who cares what he likes? She was still a mother, she still had time to give the baby a name. It can't have come from nowhere. _He_ can't have come from nowhere."

Cain puts his reading aside to meet her eyes, "Why are you suddenly so interested in someone you have only ever expressed disdain for during the last six months?"

"Just curious," she says with a shrug, standing up and walking into the bathroom. Once she is out of sight, she spells the mark she had just noticed behind her ear away. She is fairly sure it had been covered by her hair this entire time. Cain hadn't said anything at least, and what boy _wouldn't_ say something about that?

When she walks back out, now changed into her nightgown, Cain asks again, "Why?"

"No reason," she answers, sauntering over to the bed to straddle his hips. "You told me to drop it, I am dropping it. Let's talk about something else."

He hums and puts his hands on her legs, "So what store did you go to yesterday?"

He just wants to see what she will say. If she'll tell him what's happening or if he has to keep guessing. He knows he could _ask_ , but what's if it's not - what if Lestrange's instincts were right and Tom isn't doing anything? What if it's a choice, and the only thing she was worried about yesterday was Tom's jealousy or whether Tom had told him?

"Just Twilfitt and Tattings to check on a robe order," she responds casually, running her hands along his chest.

Lestrange is right - it would not be out of the realm of possibility for a girl to want Tom Riddle. It would not be out of the realm of possibility for _her_ to want Tom Riddle and do this to him.

He forces a smile and runs a hand through her hair, pulling her down for a kiss.

"Twilfitt and Tattings? You don't have to shop there, Cass. I'll send the finest couturiers from Paris to you to make all of your robes from scratch so that, just like you, they won't be anything like anybody else's."

She laughs, "I can afford the finest couturiers from Paris now too, remember?"

He flips them over, "Yes, but there's still something different about me sending them, isn't there my little Cinderella?"

She scrunches her nose and pretends to hit him on the shoulder, "You know I hate when you call me that. Just because you are a Rosier, that doesn't make you Prince Charming."

"It does though," he says, nipping at her neck. He's going to be the one to leave marks this time, and unlike _his_ she won't have any reason to remove them. "Unless you don't think that I'm charming?"

"I think you are the most charming person I have ever met," she replies. This time her smile is real. "But that has very little to do with your name and everything to do with _you_."

"Come on, Cass - the name helps and you know it," he teases, only half-joking, as he pushes her nightgown up her legs. "You know, you could have the name too?"

She realizes what he is asking but just laughs and kisses him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! I promise we will get back to some action (and Tom) next chapter - which is supposed to be up Sunday per my usual schedule, but I am still re-working it so it may be delayed by a few days. Thanks for all of the comments last time :) Really cheered me up with everything going on, and of course I hope you all are safe and happy given the current situation too. As always, I would appreciate any comments and feedback on this chapter!


	13. Caught in the Crossfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When everyone is playing their own game, miscommunications and lies abound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Mood Song: Siren by Kailee Morgue

Cassandra waits until Friday morning to send him her response. It is one word long: _Deal._

The next Wednesday, the first one of the new year, Tom is rushing back from an appointment with Smith so that he can go see her as soon as possible. He apparates in front of the store just a few minutes before 2 p.m. and darts in to grab today's item from behind the till before flooing over. He stops just as the door to the shop closes behind him. Cassandra is leaning against the counter, looking at him.

"What are you doing here?" he snaps.

"I'm sorry, Tom, did I mix up the time of our appointment?" she asks with that fake politeness again.

"We have an agreement, Cassandra," he says with a scowl.

"Yes, we agreed that I would see you," she replies, her saccharine tone riling him up further. "As I don't believe we specified _where_ , I thought I would take the initiative in coming to meet you."

"Where could have been deduced based on our past practices, couldn't it?" he fumes.

"Change can be a good thing, Tom," she says with a wide smile that he just knows is hiding a smirk. When he gets closer and she can speak quietly enough for them not to be overheard in the offices, she adds, "You requested my physical presence. Here I am. I think you can agree I am living up to _exactly_ what I promised you, Tom."

He huffs, "You think you can do this every week?"

"Considering the floo connection to my manor is still blocked, I do think I can get here a lot more easily than you can get there."

"I am not happy with this change, Cassandra," he says, glaring down at her. He is so close to her that she can feel the edge of the counter pressing against her back.

"Bully for you," she says. "I am not happy with anything about this situation, but we have a deal. I am honoring it. I expect you to as well."

"And if I don't?" he hisses, letting his anger and disappointment get the better of him.

She maintains her smile despite his tone, "Then this is over. Forever. No matter what you do to him. If I can't trust your word, then there's no point in trying to appease you, is there?"

"Come to my office."

"No."

"Don't be difficult," he commands sternly.

"Same to you," she returns without flinching.

He leans down closer to her, his arms out against the counter by her sides, trapping her there. He knows this would already be a very difficult thing to explain if Borgin or Burke walk into the shop. He cannot risk being any more unprofessional, but staying even this far away from her right now is proving to be a challenge.

"What if I need your help with something?"

"You already declined that offer, didn't you?"

One of his hands moves up until he is leaning his elbow on the counter, bringing him even closer to her. His fingers find their way to the ends of her hair. He asks, "But if it's a mutually beneficial arrangement, like the last time, will you consider it?"

"I will consider helping you with things, if I wish to do so," she responds. She knows she should tell him to stop, to move away, but she cannot get the words to leave her lips. When he tugs on her hair something inside of her just wants to bite him.

"Good," he says, barely taking in her words. Merlin, he is so deeply _fucked_. Just the rise and fall of her chest is enough to drive him mad. He has to find a way to get to her manor.

His other hand slides across to her hip, fingers spreading across her thigh, drawing small circles against the silk of her dress which he has pushed against her leg. Her eyes begin to slip closed and her breathing slows. He sees her bite her lip slightly and knows she is holding back a whimper of appreciation. He continues moving across her leg, closer and closer, and pulls her hair back again to get a better angle of display for her reaction.

When she finally lets the whimper escape, low and oh so silky, he leans down toward her. His lips are almost on hers as he whispers, "Perhaps you will let me visit you to explore other mutually beneficial activities, since it appears your needs are not being met elsewhere."

It is a mistake for him to remind her there is an elsewhere. The thought of what Cain would feel if he heard about this brings her back to reality in a flash, her eyes opening quickly to glare at him. At the loathing in them, he digs his fingers in to her thigh hard until he sees her flinch. A hand against his chest pushes him back from her harshly enough to send a message.

"I assure you my needs are being more than met elsewhere," she counters.

"I could show you how untrue that is in a matter of minutes," he taunts.

She laughs dismissively before saying, "Can we move on with our _professional_ transaction - or is there something you want to request from me that the very thought of won't make me want to gag?"

"Yes. Potions ingredients," he answers, stepping away and rounding over to the other side of the counter. "You mentioned you run a company that sources them as one of your little hobbies?"

She turns to him, a polite smile back on her face, "Yes. What do you need and how much?"

"I'll send a list," he responds as he takes out the chest from under the counter.

* * *

Patience is a virtue, and Tom Riddle is not a virtuous person. He's had quite enough of it, and he wants things to start going his way again immediately. He needs to send her a message, loud and clear: he is in charge of how things go between them, just as he is in charge of everything and everyone else in his life. Including, quite luckily, Cain. He orders him to throw a small cocktail party to celebrate the new year - and to make sure she will be in attendance, including not telling her he will be there.

The scowl Rosier tries to hide when Tom walks into the entrance hall of his London townhouse speaks for itself. He almost laughs at it. He cannot wait to see how much more pronounced it will become as the night wears on.

Guests are already spread out all over the floor, across the gallery, sitting rooms, and dinning room of the lavish home. Tom counts about forty of his followers among them as he surveys the scene. Most at least subtly bow their heads to him and pause their conversations as he passes them, in case he has something to say. All are left disappointed. First, to accomplish what he's arranged this whole show for.

He catches Cassandra in the library talking with Selwyn, but he does not want her to notice him yet. Instead, he tracks down Avery, already sitting with most of the core group in the main drawing room, and orders him to go fetch his partner and her conversation companion.

Tom is still standing, hovering near the fireplace, when the three walk back in. Cassandra looks as if she is about to go join Rosier on the settee when her eyes flash to him instead, lingering for a minute before she remembers herself.

A smile slips back on to her face and she mutters, "Actually, I am going to get…"

Tom speaks up, cutting off her excuse before she can finish it, "Rosier, it appears the lady wants a drink. Why don't you go and fetch one for her?"

This is his way to put Rosier in his place again. His way to put her on the defensive again. She has had the upper hand far too long for his taste - and though this is Rosier's home, with all of them here Tom is the one with the home field advantage.

Her eyes drift between Tom and Cain, waiting to see who will buckle first as the two stare at each other, both of their jaws locked. It is Cain, of course. He stands, smiling as he nods to Tom and turns around. Tom does not miss the way Cassandra grimaces at this development, the ways her eyes narrow - but not toward him for once. She clearly does not like someone else having more control over Cain than she does.

"I'll be back in a minute, Cass," Cain says as he reaches out a hand to touch her arm while he passes, eyes as desperate as his voice, begging her to stay, sensing her unhappiness.

She shoots him a forced smile and goes to sit next to the space he formerly occupied.

Nott is the one to break the tension by asking Mulciber where Carrow is tonight. Mulciber tells them she's gone off to see her family in order to announce their engagement. The others all offer hearty congratulations and Selwyn demands he share the story of his proposal. This is followed by a nervous glance from Avery, prompting all of the other boys to interrupt Mulciber at regular intervals to tease him about ideas for his own proposal.

Tom only waits a few moments before he strolls casually over to the settee, taking the spot next to her despite the fact that there is still an empty armchair by the fireplace. Cain walks back in a few minutes later and hands her a sidecar. After a brief glance over at Tom, he takes the new seating arrangement as an order and sits down in the armchair.

Cassandra's eyes linger on Cain for a second, a sour look on her face. She understands why he doesn't stand up to him, but she does not appreciate it nonetheless. He has never deferred to someone else over her before. She thinks of telling him that Tom can't hurt him, but then she would have to tell him about the whole deal between them and it would raise too many questions. Anyway, is it awful for her to want him to choose her over Tom for himself?

She shakes it off and returns to listening to the conversation politely, though the room is loud and she can really barely hear them.

Tom leans toward her to whisper, "I was just thinking about our deal earlier today. Specifically, your choice to disregard past performance to establish the terms."

"It isn't my fault you didn't think to specify where we would meet."

"Then it isn't my fault you didn't think to specify that our _friends_ couldn't hurt him."

Tom does not miss the way she stiffens, the way her eyes fly back over to Rosier and check him for any injuries before she relaxes again. Who is Tom kidding, pretending he would let anyone else get revenge for that?

Her attention is pulled away from Cain when she feels Tom's fingers skimming her forearms, which are resting in her lap. They lock around her right wrist, pulling it toward the space between them.

"It could happen right now, while you watch," he says. The edge in his voice challenges her to provoke him into it by trying to move.

His thumb pushes her sleeve up until it is resting just above her wrist. The charm concealing the mark is easy for him to dispose of. Soon, the green snake emblazoned on her flesh is displayed to all the curious eyes in the room pretending not to be watching them. She is watching Cain out of the corner of her eye and the best way she can describe the expression he is trying to hide right now is _devastated_. She had been so careful to make sure he never saw it, including coming up with an excuse about her skin reacting badly to the spell to explain why the rose was gone. Now he knows none of that was true, and she can tell he has done the math to add up her attitude toward Tom in the last few weeks and the fingerprints on her neck with this.

"You wouldn't dare," she seethes. She cannot hide her own frown.

An image flashes in Tom's mind of himself pulling her into his lap, pulling her lips to his, holding her against him as she whimpers and begs. He pushes the thought away. Rosier is loyal enough, and that is too much to do without justification.

"Don't assume I would hesitate to give the order right now if I wanted to."

"They wouldn't. They are his friends too."

"Come now, I know you are smart enough to have pieced together something by now."

A little laugh escapes from her lips as she challenges, "Then do."

He simply says, "I wouldn't have before, but that doesn't count now, does it?"

It is the mocking tone of his voice that convinces her. His thumb skims over the snake on her arm again. She forces a smile to hide the look of disgust that flashes over her face, "It can."

"Our usual meetings resume at their usual location then?"

"Of course."

"Good, little harpy."

He lets go of her arm. She pulls the sleeve down quickly as she puts it back in her lap. She sees the question in everybody's eyes, most of all Cain's - but how can she answer it without hurting him?

Now that he has what he wants, Tom waits until Mulciber is done speaking before standing to excuse himself, "I do have a few more people to say hello to. Rosier, be a good host and accompany me."

Cain stands and follows him. Once they are out of earshot of everyone else, he tries to speak up, "My lord, if you cou…"

"Don't try to tell me what to do," Tom commands.

"She's more fragile than she seems," Cain pleads. He had seen the way Cassandra had tensed when he had touched her, and he knows that is the closest to fear she ever gets. Whether it is fear of Tom or fear of Cain finding out about them, he still does not know. Either way, he does not want her involved in his games.

"I am not going to hurt your precious little bird, Cain - but I might hurt you if you bring this up again. You will let me do what I like with her. I believe that brings this conversation to an end."

"Please, I lo…"

"That's it, go and tell Cassandra she will be the one accompanying me," Tom orders, turning back to glare at him. After Cain does not move for a minute, Tom raises an eyebrow and repeats again, "Go."

He leaves. She comes out alone, scowling.

Tom smirks and wraps an arm around her waist before leaning down to whisper, "Smile, little harpy. Our deal is definitely paying off for you right now."

"You do know women hate it when men tell them to smile, don't you?" she retorts.

"Trust me, women don't hate it when I tell them to smile. Come, Cass. If you be nice, I might just introduce you to someone interesting."

After several lackluster conversations with the rank and file constantly trying to impress him, during which she behaves politely enough to avoid embarrassing him, he keeps his promise by introducing her to Rookwood. Of course, the man cannot talk specifically about his own work, but the three of them do discuss several _theoretical_ ideas about time magic and whether the future is pre-determined or ever shifting. Tom pulls her away after nearly an hour, her mood clearly tremendously improved and her thoughts finally on something other than how much she hates him.

They go to the library and he leads her to the armchair nestled by the back window. He sits, pulling her with him so that she has to perch herself on the arm of the chair, his arm around her waist holding her steady and her skirt puffing out over his knees. She is still muttering enthusiastically about prophecies, and he resists laughing as he nods along and occasionally responds to one of her ideas, his attention on her legs brushing against his instead of her words. How quickly would she jump away if he grabbed them now?

She is too caught up in her head to even notice he is touching her, until his grip on her tightens and he pulls her even closer so that her shoulder is resting against his. Her eyes dart back to his face, and she is completely still for a moment. He is staring at her so intensely she thinks his eyes could burn her, and yet his touch is so cold it feels like fresh water is splashing across her skin.

"I don't like you," she says, quiet but firm. She is trying to convince herself as much as she is trying to convince him. Maybe this is some kind of spell, she thinks. How else can she explain the fact that she seems to lose all her resolution as soon as he touches her like that, soft and yet so, so insistent?

"That's a lie, isn't it, Cass?" he points out. "You do like me, but you don't think you should."

"You tricked me into being here."

"Now how could I possibly have done that? It's not my party, is it?"

"You are forcing me to open my manor again."

"All I did was take advantage of the loophole you created."

"You said something to him."

"No, I didn't. He just wants us to get to know each other better."

"Do you really expect me to believe that, Tom?"

"Cain and I are good friends, Cassandra. Why wouldn't he want us to be friends?"

"Putting aside the fact that you don't treat him at all like a friend, because _this_ \- the general way you have been behaving tonight - is not at all an appropriate way for a gentlemen to treat another man's lady. Neither is branding her."

"If you didn't act like you belong to him then I wouldn't have to show everyone otherwise."

"What if I want to belong to him, Tom?"

"You don't, do you, Cass?"

"But what if I did?"

Time and her breathing seem to stop as he tilts his chin up and whispers in her ear, "Then I would show you you were wrong."

Merlin, his voice. The raw desire in it is enough to make her imagine things that definitely shouldn't be crossing her mind at all. She could let him kiss her. She could let him do more. She could let his fire warm her insides. It would feel good, even if she knows he is anything but.

_Fuck_ , this is exactly why she has been trying to stay away from him.

"I have to go back to…" she starts, still breathless.

Tom smirks, his grip on her waist only tightening. "One would think you would have learned your lesson about trying to run away from me already, little harpy."

"I am not trying to run away. I simply have nothing further to discuss with you since you insist on evading the truth in all of your responses," she persists.

"Stay and I will give you one question," Tom offers.

She knows she should get back to Cain, but his offer is too tempting to resist. Truth, and some payback for making her suffer earlier in the evening along with it. She smiles down at him and lets him relax back in the chair before she asks, "What was it like growing up as an orphan?"

"Cassandra," he warns, tone the sharpest she has heard from him yet.

"You said one question."

"I don't talk about that," he says sternly.

"Then you shouldn't have made an offer without any conditions," she returns.

He narrows his eyes at her and spits, "It was unpleasant, is that what you want to hear? You want me to weave a drawn-out story of woe and suffering, with a heavy spattering of chimney sweeps and child abuse, for you so that you can find some way to pity my poor soul?"

"I want to hear the truth, Tom," she says sincerely, the false smile dropping from her face as she realizes she has cut him deeper than she anticipated. "Whatever part of it you want to tell."

He locks eyes with her and the rest of the voices in the room seem to fade away. It is almost as if it is just the two of them there, surrounded by their little bubble of honesty and understanding yet again. Everyone else in the room has already turned back to their own conversations anyway, their interest in why their master is treating this notorious woman with such favor faded. Everyone except for one figure standing in the doorway, recently arrived, watching them. Cain had thought perhaps enough time had passed that he could rescue her, but now he doubts she needs rescuing.

Tom reaches forward with his other hand, grabbing Cassandra's wrist and padding his thumb against the mark under her sleeve. He looks pensive for a second before deciding how to sum it up, "It was lonely. Nobody else there was like me. They didn't understand me, didn't like what I was capable of. And it was desperate. Even before the war rationing, with the budgetary limitations and the constant flow of new children. I had to fight for what I needed, had to be creative to get anything I wanted. Every morning and every night, I swore to myself I would survive and make it out of that place to something better, something worthy of me - then I learned about Hogwarts."

She waits for a few moments to pass, smiling down at him softly. He does not want to elaborate and hopes that will close the topic. A hope she seems to catch on to because she tilts her head toward the rest of the room and says playfully, "Well look at you now. You have all these friends."

He stares into her face, holding her eyes, "Are we friends, Cass?"

Just as she is about to give the easy, comforting answer, his thumb stops, resting over the mark, and she asks herself what the fuck she is doing. She breaks free from his gaze, her hand withdrawing from his as she sits up straight and turns her head to look out of the window behind him, "No, I don't think we'll ever be friends."

"Why not?" he asks, his hand pulling hers back. His lips are nearly against her neck as he hisses, "We understand each other, don't we, Cass?"

"I'm your prisoner," she mumbles bitterly, preferring not to address his second question. She hopes her answer and her obstinance will upset him enough to prompt him to set her free, but she sees his eyes harden and knows she has only increased his conviction.

"You made a choice to be, Cassandra," he reminds her, voice as sweet as honey. "If you just stop resisting giving me what I want - if you just admit to yourself it is what you really want too - you would enjoy it."

"Nothing about this is what I want, Tom," she growls. She pulls out of his hold, moving to stand up. His hand comes up to keep her legs in place before she can leave.

"Stay, Cass," he orders.

"No," she sneers. She does not like being told what to do, let alone what to think.

"Sit the fuck down or I am going to have him hurt himself," he replies calmly, only his eyes betraying his anger.

"That would be breaking our deal," she says with a glare.

"Would it? All I said was I wouldn't hurt him and our friends wouldn't hurt him. Is it my fault if he decides to hurt himself?"

"That would be you hurting him. It's you when you are the cause of it, no matter who does it."

"No, it's you, Cassandra. You said you would stay. Someone has to suffer the consequences of you breaking your word."

She settles back in to the arm of the chair, her arms crossed in front of her as she huffs, "You are such a relentless prick, it is amazing that you can sometimes distract me into forgetting that."

"My reactions depend entirely on your actions, Cass," Tom answers, keeping his hand on her leg. "I can be very nice if you let me be."

"I have a boyfriend," she chides, pushing his hand away.

"I thought we already established that is not an obstacle."

"I thought I already established that I don't want to fuck you."

"You are a very bad liar, Cass."

"You are a domineering wanker, Tom."

"Does that change the fact that you liked it when I kissed you?"

"It should."

He smirks. _Should_. He pulls her closer and whispers, "Do you want me to kiss you again right now?"

Her cheeks flare red as she realizes her mistake, "No."

"If privacy is the issue, we can go upstairs," he hisses. "I can fuck you in his bed."

Her problem with him is not that he is too multifaceted for her to understand. It is that he is too sharply faceted for her to understand how she should feel about him. If he was a diamond, he would have only one cut - a deep one straight down the middle. A flaw just as fatal as he is. On one side, he is intelligent and charming and relatable. On the other, he is demanding and harsh and vindictive. In the middle, a well of passion that can fill with fury and cruelty or with tenderness and ardor, depending on which side he is showing at the moment. The two are not really so different, she thinks. She bets he fucks like he fights, untamed and unrelenting.

She shouldn't be thinking about such things at all, she reminds herself. Tom is not a puzzle for her to figure out, or at least he should not be. Logically, she knows it is best for her to see Tom as only one thing - a threat, specifically a threat to Cain. Cain, who she is supposed to care about as much as he cares about her, who is good and kind, and who would never hurt her in any way. Cain, who would not like the position she is in right now one bit.

Then again, maybe he would. He had basically given her to him, had conceded her company without an ounce of protest, had even been the one to demand it back for him. Maybe Tom is not lying. Maybe this is what Cain wants. Maybe he thinks it will somehow gain him favor. Worse, maybe he doesn't really care.

It does not matter. Tom is the kind of trouble she does not want to get in to. The kind of trouble that eats people up inside and tosses them aside once they've had enough.

Her blush fades, replaced by calm and conviction. She informs him, "If the only reason you are forcing me to spend time with you is in hopes of compelling me to fuck you, you will end up being sorely disappointed."

"Not the _only_ reason, no," Tom prods.

"So shall we talk about the other reasons then?" she asks. "I can get everything on your list, though the best pearl dust comes from Australian pearls, so that will take some time to arrive."

"That would be acceptable."

"We can negotiate prices next week?"

"I would rather have samples to test out first, if possible."

"That can be arranged if…"

She is interrupted by a cough from in front of them. She turns as Tom's attention shifts. Lestrange is standing there, arms crossed behind his back, facial expression carefully neutral, "Tom, Karkaroff has to leave soon."

Cain hadn't said anything to them when he got back, but the look on his face had spoken for itself. If they let this go on any longer, Lestrange is pretty sure his friend will end up with alcohol poisoning.

Tom stands, bringing her up with him, "Right. I have some business to take care of, Cass. I will come dance with you later."

She smiles politely in response and watches as he walks off with Lestrange, then makes her way back to the lounge. She is irked to see Cain sitting next to Evelyn Greengrass, though from the sound of it he is just talking about the quidditch season with Mulciber.

She leans over the back of his chair, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, and whispers, "I am going to bed. Just in case anybody asks."

He reaches up to take her hand, "Are you feeling alright, Cass?"

"Fine, darling. Just tired," she answers. "Wake me up when you come up, please?"

"Of course," he responds, turning his head to capture her lips. "I will see you soon."

Cain knows that, whatever her motivation, she is sparing him and he is thankful for it. If he isn't the next person to lay hands on her, he thinks he is going to go mad. Though he does become a bit less thankful about half an hour later, when Tom comes back.

"Where is Cassandra?" he barks after a quick glance around the room.

"She left. She was tired," Cain responds smoothly, barely glancing at him. The truth, but only half of it. Tom does not need to know she is right upstairs. Cain knows if he reveals that, Tom will just make him fetch her. Or worse, Tom will go to join her himself.

"She was supposed to stay to dance with me," Tom says with an accusing look. The rest of them do not miss the fact that he is going for his wand.

"He didn't ask…" Mulciber starts.

Tom raises his hand to signal him to stop talking, but he does not reach for his wand again. He just gives Cain one last withering look and one last command before turning around and returning to business, "In the future, you will make sure she stays until I say otherwise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this took me two whole days to rewrite and edit because I kept changing most parts. I still don't know how to feel about it as a whole, to be honest. I suspect it is just a touch more complex than I am used to writing, which is why it was hard - so many people meddling with each other in this chapter! That said, I will probably change to updating just on Sundays because I am already starting classes again next week (law school = eternal suffering; don't recommend), and may have actually gotten a job.
> 
> As always, I would love it if you would leave a quick comment to let me know what you think :) Maybe it will help me stop obsessively overanalyzing this chapter so I can move on to more productive things.


	14. Bent Out of Shape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One step forward, two steps back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Mood Song: Hardest of Hearts by Florence + the Machine

The next week, he floos to her manor at 2 p.m. on Wednesday. She is waiting for him in the sitting room, a red dress on and the usual tray of coffee and pastries missing. She flashes a polite smile and gestures to the couch opposite the one she is on, "Please sit, Tom."

He wants to go sit next to her instead, but he controls himself and follows her instruction. He enjoys her more when she is not on the defensive, hiding behind sarcastic comments and refueling old angers to stop herself from liking him. When they are alone together, there is no need to put on a show, no need to antagonize reactions out of her. He already has her - and all of her attention - all to himself.

Though the red does irk him, as he is sure she hoped it would. Maybe he can get to her closet and destroy every red piece of clothing in it, he thinks. Then again, getting near her closet would likely require finding her bedroom first, and surely there are much more interesting things to do there.

"Good afternoon, Cass," he says, not giving her the satisfaction of seeing her petty revenge has worked. "Where are my ingredients?"

She looks at him with a wry smile on her face, eyes purposefully big and blinking rapidly, voice too pleasant, "As you unfortunately cut our conversation short, I wasn't quite sure how you wanted them prepared."

He should have known better than to think things would be the same between them just because they are here, not after everything that had happened during and since his last visit. It was a mistake to think that once they were alone they would slip back into their old ways. It was a mistake to lash out and put the mark there in the first place right when she was so close to almost giving in - but he does still so enjoy the way it looks against her skin.

"Our conversation was cut short by you leaving," Tom chides.

"Our conversation was cut short because you presumed you could order me to dance with you instead of my date," she fires back.

"It is polite to say goodbye before leaving a party," Tom responds, a tight smile on his face, his tone carefully controlled. "I was displeased by your rudeness, Cassandra."

"Would you have let me leave if I had told you I was going to?"

"Of course not. You were supposed to stay to dance with me."

"Last I checked, no part of our deal obliges me to oblige you."

"Your date would have obliged me for you."

"Because you two are such good _friends_ that he doesn't mind you claiming me in front of all of your other friends?" she snarls, rolling her eyes.

"Perhaps people assumed you were my date instead because you two just don't have the same chemistry that we do."

"Perhaps, unlike you, Cain is a gentlemen and knows how to treat a lady in public."

"In fact, he is such a gentlemen and we are such good friends that he would have known better than to lay a hand on you in my presence at all, let alone to steal away the first dance of the evening," he sneers.

"What did you say to him?" she snaps, eyes narrowing.

"Nothing at all," Tom says with a wide smile. "Just ask him."

"I did," she responds, staring him down. "I want to hear it from you."

"I want to hear what he said," Tom goads, guessing she is hoping for an answer from him she hadn't been able to get out of Cain. When she leans back and looks away instead of responding, he realizes it must be worse - perhaps she had gotten an answer out of Cain she didn't like, and she was hoping Tom would give her one that would explain it away. "Come now, Cass. What did he say that made you so upset with me?"

"He mentioned you asked for me."

"That's not it, is it?"

"He didn't say anything else."

"Tell me, Cass, or I'll just ask him," he threatens.

"It wasn't Cain," she mumbles after a few moments, looking down at her hands in her lap instead of up at him. "Lestrange sent a letter."

"To say what?" Tom presses.

"Various creative ways of calling me a slag for, unbeknownst to me, having you over every Wednesday to fuck. Is that what you told your friends you're doing with me, Tom?"

He leans forward toward her, sensing she is vulnerable - after all, her greatest insecurity is still caring too much about what people whisper about her behind her back. He reaches a hand out to tilt her chin up so that their eyes meet. The fire in hers lights his, and he instantly knows what he will be doing that evening. He only wonders if the torture should be public, to warn the others of what will happen to them if they dare to injure or insult her, or private, to avoid the risk of further gossip.

His voice is uncharacteristically soft and yet firm, just like his touch, as he says, "Cassandra, I did not, at any point, tell _anyone_ about _anything_ that has happened between us - nor will I allow anyone to speak of you or to you that way."

She looks at him for a moment, searching his face for any hint that would give away a lie. When she finds none, the anger in her expression melts away. It wasn't him. Whatever he'd said that had turned Cain so quiet the rest of the night, it wasn't that. That wasn't what Tom thought of her.

She nearly whispers back, "Don't hurt him."

Tom's eyes are still as soft and grey as the fog, and his voice still as tranquil and immovable as a flowing river, "He hurt you, Cass."

"He was just trying to protect Cain."

"He hurt _you_ ," Tom growls. This is not acceptable. Tom won't even allow himself to hurt her again. The idea of anyone else doing it makes his wand arm twitch.

"Considering he's hated me for about ten years now, the letter was actually a bit mild."

"Cassandra, I cannot let such behavior pass."

"Tom, I said to," she responds with just as much conviction. There is no love lost between her and Roland, but she has the feeling that even he does not deserve whatever the glint in Tom's eye means he's planning. She quickly thinks of something to distract him. "Would you like to wait here or in the study while I prepare the potions ingredients?"

"I'll come with you," he responds, ignoring the fact that option was not offerred.

She walks with him to a large circular room just past her study and up one staircase. The rounded walls are all lined in shelves holding various bottles and jars of both raw ingredients and finished potions. The center of the room is filled with a rectangular stone table with two stools on either end.

"Abraxan hair was first, if I recall correctly. Any preferences for length? Age?" she asks while skimming the shelves.

"Long and young," Tom answers, sitting on the stool closest to her as he watches her work. She pulls a bottle and sends it over to the table with a wave of her hand.

"Acromantula venom. As that is nearly indistinguishable based on which country it is from, I assume you don't need any specific source?"

"No."

Another bottle flies over, lining up neatly next to the first one. "Angel's trumpet. Do you want the entire flower or just the bulb?"

"Entire."

"Fresh or dried?"

"Dried."

They repeat this process for the other thirty or so ingredients he had requested, until the table is nearly filled with jars. She then walks over and starts pulling them into small vials. Tom stands and insists that he help. He really just wants an excuse to be close enough to touch her.

Things are almost like before. Maybe he will stay for dinner. Maybe he will forget about Lestrange's punishment for today. She hums while she works and he wants to put his fingers against her throat to feel the vibrations of it, but he resists the urge. It is best not to push her yet, or she may go back to that pesky habit of ensuring there is always distance between them.

"So at any point are you going to share with me what you need so many ingredients in such quantities for?" she asks as they are almost through.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Everything you requested is either rare or controlled. I would like to know what kind of liability I am opening myself up to with this deal, Tom."

"There is never any liability with me, Cassandra," he answers, corking the last vial and sorting it into the holder on the table before turning to her.

"It's always the ones that are so sure of themselves who aren't careful enough not to get caught," she says with a smirk.

"If you think that will happen, wouldn't knowing about it just increase your liability?" he points out. He cannot resist reaching a hand out to take her hip. She glances down at it briefly but does not react. He knows she is too invested in their conversation to end it by denying him now.

"The ministry isn't stupid enough to investigate me again," she points out. "And I don't think you're stupid enough to tell on me."

"No, I am very smart, Cass," he nearly whispers after inching closer to her so they are almost pressed together. "And, as I've said before, I am careful in everything I do."

Every muscle in her body has tensed and she is clearly trying to resist giving him anything back, even the slightest accidental touch. She maintains eye contact despite the lack of physical distance, "But just in case, I would like to be able to tell on you too, Tom. Even the playing field a bit by ensuring we both have an incentive to keep quiet about this deal. So show me what it's for."

"Saturday," he offers, his other hand sliding across the table so his fingers can start toying with the ends of her hair. If he just pulled ever so slightly, he could dive for her lips, her neck, _her_ before she could stop him.

"Why can't we do it during our next appointment?" she asks, an eyebrow raised.

"I'm not giving up one of my regular appointments with you to sate your curiosity, Cass."

"I have plans Saturday. Does Sunday work?"

He knows she has plans Saturday. It's the Rosier parents' anniversary, typically marked by a grand family dinner. He does not want her to be part of that family. He insists, "If you want me to show you, it has to be Saturday."

"Fine," she huffs. "We'll have to be done by…"

He is tired of knowing she is thinking about _him_. He wants her to think about him, only him. His hand pulls her hips all the way against his, and the way she squirms in response makes him have the urge to toss all the vials off the table and fuck her right there. She does not have time to move away before he is pulling her hair back to smash their lips together, before he is practically clawing at that red dress of hers in an effort to expose more of her pale, warm flesh to his fingers and, eventually, his lips. She gasps as he pushes down her sleeve and uses his fingers to slide down the neckline of her dress. It is her magic, not her hands, that pushes him away this time, sending him sliding a meter or so back from her.

"I am not here to sate your curiosity, Tom," she snaps with a glare as she pulls her dress back into place. "I'm sure you can find another plaything who is willing to do that."

"Don't pretend you aren't curious too," he says with a return glare. He hates that she always has to pretend not to like this, when the heaving of her chest, the rapid pulse under her skin, and the flush of her cheeks clearly signal otherwise.

"I am not. You took me by surprise," she defends haughtily.

"Right, I'm sure that explains why you kissed me back, Cass," he says sarcastically.

"I am not a whore, Tom. I don't appreciate being treated like one, and I don't appreciate being paraded around in front of your friends like one."

Forget what she said, he's going to cut Lestrange's hand off so he cannot write any more stupid letters. If she had been reluctant before, now she is determined. Determined not to give in. Determined not to make his words true - even if her skin is still burning for the cooling touch of his fingertips, even if she feels like the only oxygen left in the room is in his lungs.

"Cassandra, you know I have never regarded you as anything so simple," he answers, his tone as well as his steps toward her steady. "You know that I have never treated you as anything less than a powerful witch. And you know that when you are at an event with me, it is as nothing less than my lady."

His words hit hard and true. Fleetingly, she finds herself wondering if she'd really rather be a jewel on one of their arms than a diamond in his crown. The premise is silly, she reminds herself. No matter how sweet his words, Tom is not really so sentimental as to see things even remotely that way. All he wants from her is to prove he can have anything any of them do, to prove there is no one in the world who can deny him. All he wants is to fuck her until he's bored and then give her back to Cain marred to remind him of where his place will always be. All she wants is what Cain already gives her, she tells herself. Respectability. Kindness. Love.

She will not admit those things are not actually all she wants, even to herself. Will not admit how good it feels not to be just respected but actually valued when she is on Tom's arm instead. She remembers how, at the gala, when he'd taken her back to the group's table, she'd casually mentioned she was thirsty and wanted some mineral water and Avery, Mulciber, and Nott had all immediately jumped up and offerred to get it for her. Tom had just laughed and asked, "Shall we see who's fastest, Cass?" Nott had won. Even at the casino, she had seen them lingering, practically at her beck and call. Every time her glass became empty or she showed any revulsion at what Malfoy was trying, they appeared like magic next to her to assist. She wonders if Tom had ordered them to do that.

Probably, it was just what they did for all of his dates, and she definitely does not want to be one of those. One of the dozens of women hovering desperately around him at every outing, begging for his attention again after being used once and tossed aside. Cain would never do that to her - or to anyone for that matter.

"You seem to forget I am not _your_ lady, Tom," she scolds.

"Outside observers seem to think you are," he retorts. His nerves rilled, he brings up a question he had suppressed before, "How did Lestrange send you a letter anyway?"

She rolls her eyes before quipping, "Well, Tom, to send a letter you get a roll of pa…"

"How did he know where to send the owl, Cassandra?"

"Probably just guessed."

"He guessed this is your home, or he guessed where it is?"

"He visited the manor a few times during our youth. I assume he remembers where it is."

"You assume?"

"Yes. I didn't go reading his mind, Tom."

"But if he sent it here, you would know he remembers where it is," he says tersely. "He didn't send it here, did he, Cass?"

Cassandra does not respond, just biting her lip and looking away. She does remember his words about the consequences of breaking hers. She is searching her mind desperately for a way out of this, but all she can think of is the red glint in his eyes.

"You stayed at Rosier's house," Tom declares, since her face has already betrayed her guilt. It is almost as if she enjoys it when he acts out, otherwise why would she constantly be giving him excuses to do so?

"I don't see how it's any of your -" she tries to argue in vain.

"I was downstairs looking for you and you were upstairs waiting for him," he growls.

"Again, I don't see how it's any of your business where I lay my head."

"I don't see how it's _not_ any of my fucking business when I arrange a party for you to attend with me and…"

"As you yourself pointed out, it wasn't your party," she says smugly, glad he's taken the ownership angle. Hopefully he's forgotten about the promise, then. "Furthermore, I was not attending it with you. I told the host, who also happened to be my date, that I was leaving, and where I was going in _his_ house instead. I did not see the need to announce it to any of his guests, including you."

Tom is fuming. He knew? That fucker knew and he pretended she wasn't there. Forget crucio. He wants to feel Cain suffer with his own hands. He wants to cut out his lying little tongue and squeeze every ounce of breath from his disobedient lungs.

"Next time you dare to lay in his bed when you know where I am and that I am expecting you to be with me, I _will_ come join you," he threatens, still staring her down.

She stares back, jaw locked and eyes set, "When I agreed to our deal, I thought we were both of the understanding that seeing you meant acquiescing to our weekly appointments again, not being under the obligation to provide you with my company whenever you wanted it."

"No, you certainly have no obligation to do that - but when you agree to something, you have an obligation to keep your word to me," he says. She grimaces at the confirmation that he hasn't forgotten and scrambles for another excuse. "If you choose to defy me for him again, there will be consequences."

" _Defy_ you? Putting aside how ridiculous it is that you think I have to obey you, I did not defy you! I stayed until you left our conversation, as I said I would. The fact that you tried to dictate what I did with the rest of my evening as you were leaving does not mean I agreed to let you have my company again after you returned."

"Regardless of how you interpreted our agreement on this occasion, at future events, when I am present, you will be in my presence until you are explicitly excused. When I am otherwise engaged and you know I plan to return, you will stay with Nott or Avery while you wait."

"You are assigning me chaperones now?" she scoffs, incredulous. "Since when do you decide who I spend my time with?"

"Since the man you pretend to care about is under my thumb, Cassandra."

"Touch him and -"

"I don't have to touch him - though, trust me, I would love to. I could order him to do anything. Break his wand. Jump off a building. Move to Antartica. Stop seeing you."

"He wouldn't."

"You would be surprised what people will do for me, Cass."

"You wouldn't. I would stop seeing you, Tom."

He runs a finger down her jaw and holds her chin when she tries to turn away. He hisses, "If you still think there is any world where you can get away from me, you are deluding yourself, little harpy."

"I'll hate you. I can promise you that. I will hate you and I will never stop hating you."

"Don't make threats you cannot keep, Cass," he responds with a smirk. "Agree and I won't order him to do anything too terrible to punish you for running away this time."

"Fuck you, Tom," she snarls, pulling back from him.

"Please do," he responds nonchalantly, stepping toward her again.

"Controlling prick."

"I get the feeling that you like that."

"There is _nothing_ I like about you."

"Liar," he declares, his eyes dancing around her face, trying to find the one soft spot she always seems to reserve for him.

"You want to check? I'll let you do legilimency on me to see if it's true," she teases, an eyebrow raised. "Go ahead, pop into my head and see how much I already despise you. You may believe my threats then, Tom."

He does not need to look into her head. He already sees it on her face - at least, he sees that she wants it to be true, which somehow seems worse. He imagines the only other person who has ever been so determined _not_ to care for him is his father.

He locks eyes with her, his tone even as he tells her, "If you ever leave me, I am going to drive him nearly mad with crucio. Not all the way though, so he can register what comes next. I am going to take my time killing him. Days _._ Many, many very painful days."

"If you ever do that, I'll return the favor," she replies, tone just as level, stare just as cold.

They glare at each other for another few seconds, just centimeters apart and both red with fury. He kisses her again, hard this time, while trapping her between the table and his body. He pulls her lip between his teeth and she tangles her hands in his hair. In a moment, they are a mess of bodies and desire, biting at each other's lips and clawing at each other's flesh. He lifts her onto the table and pulls her hair back until she is nearly arched all the way over, tearing away the fabric of her dress as his lips descend on her neck and chest.

"I don't like you," she mumbles between unsteady breaths to make sure he doesn't mistake this for something it most definitely is not. As good as this feels, it is not good enough to make her forget everything he's just said.

"You like this," he responds, more of a command than a statement. For now, he does not care if she likes him, as long as she wants something, _anything_ from him. She will learn to like him. He will learn how to make her.

His hand slips under her skirt as his mouth continues to leave marks all over her breasts. He strokes her over the fabric of her underwear and she shudders, letting out a long whimper that is the sweetest thing he has ever heard.

"You are the worst person I have ever met."

He presses his fingers down hard again before relenting but not retreating. He finds her spot and rubs it. Her hips grind back against his hand, begging for her even as she is biting her lips and trying not to give him the satisfaction of any more noises.

"Do you want to orgasm for me already, little harpy?"

"I wish I had never met you."

He increases the pressure again, to the point he knows she is tethering between pleasure and pain. He kisses her again, popping her lips free and ripping another whimper out of her.

"That's it, Cass, let me hear how much you are enjoying this. Look at me. Cass, if you want me to finish, you _will_ look at me."

He slows down until she does, bringing her teasingly close. She gives in, meeting his eye, but manages to mumble in between gasps, "I hate you."

He increases the pressure and tips her over the edge, watching as she releases, making sure she is still looking at him. If she didn't look so spent already, he'd take her right now. Better to give her some time to recover. The satisfaction in the end will be more than worth the temporary abstinence.

"No, you don't," he says sternly before kissing her again. "You're mine, Cassandra. You won't run away from me for him again."

"I am not yours, and you won't behave like I am in front of him or anyone else again or I won't tolerate _this_ any longer."

"You did not just tolerate that, you enjoyed it," he says, calling her bluff, while running a hand down her body. His hand slides under her back and pushes her up to a sitting position before he kisses her again. She shivers as their hips meet again. He hisses, "See, you enjoyed it so much you are ready to go for me again already. Tell me you liked that or I won't do it ever again, little harpy."

She blushes and looks away from him. It is not enough of an answer for him. He wants her to say it, to admit it. If she's being stubborn, he can be too. He starts to step away from her after a few seconds, his unhappiness showing on his face. She reaches out, her hand landing over his on her leg to keep him in place.

Her voice is quiet but composed as she says, "I liked that. It doesn't mean I like you."

"If you want this, you get me - and all of my demands."

"I don't want you."

"I won't do _that_ again until you admit that you do want me - because I can tell you do, no matter how hard you try to convince yourself or me that you don't."

"I don't want you," she repeats, the conviction in her voice growing as she regains her sanity. Merlin, what had come over her in the first place? He had just threatened to torture and kill the only person left that she cared about in the world and she had reacted by… well, she doesn't want to think about her reaction, but it was definitely something. Does that make turning him down better or worse, morally?

"Fine, little harpy, you get your wish. As I've said, I won't force myself on you," Tom responds, an eyebrow raised. He steps away from her. "But you will not twist one of our agreements to suit your needs again, unless you want your precious little prince to get hurt. I will punish him for your noncompliance, and you will stay anyway, Cass, because until the day he's dead there is always something worse I can do."

"I really do hate you, Tom."

"You'd do the same if you could, Cassandra."

"Too bad the only thing you care about seems to be making my life miserable," she mumbles sarcastically as she stands up, pulls her dress back in place, and mends the torn parts.

She is closer than she knows, and the truth is close enough to scare him. All he should care about is power and immortality. Instead, he wants to hold her and never let go. He wants to lock her in this room and keep her all for himself. If only he wasn't well aware of the fact that she'd probably rather swallow whatever was most poisonous in here instead.

"So, Saturday? I need to be done by four." she asks casually, as if her mind has just been set back to before they started arguing.

"I will be busy at the shop until five," he answers, picking up the box of vials on the table and following her out.

"I thought you don't work on Saturdays?"  
"Occasionally there are projects that need taking care of. There happens to be one this weekend."

"What a coincidence," she says with a sardonic smile. "Five, then. I'll meet you in front of the shop to expedite things?"

"That will be acceptable," he says.

They walk the rest of the way back to the fireplace in silence. He takes one last look at her before flooing away and utters one last command - or an attempt at one anyway, since the choice he'd given her precludes him from demanding anything of her until she gives in. He is sure that she will. Not even she will be able to resist his attraction now that she's gotten a taste of it, now that she knows the way he can make her unravel below him. He cannot wait to hear her beg.

"I will be in a more sharing mood if you wear green."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this ended up long! It's weird because I feel like not much happens in this chapter, but also like it's kind of too much. Maybe I just miss writing scenes where Tom and Cass aren't bickering with each other. Of course, I hope everyone enjoyed the little escalation of things between them. In the next chapter or two we should be getting more into the plotting for the future and explaining things about the past side of things again. Also I am legitimately embarrassed to admit how many chapters it has taken me to learn how to embed images in a story correctly.
> 
> As always, I would love it if you would leave a quick comment to let me know what you think :)


	15. Keep a Level Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our senses and our emotions, two very tricky things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I don't know who you are / All is know is you fold me in half" - Happenstance by Miles Kane

They meet in front of the store. She is wearing a red coat and thick black stockings, and he wants to rip both off of her for different reasons. She is smiling and she smells like him. Was smiling at least, until she saw Tom waiting for her. Then it had dropped like a stone from her face, replaced with polite indifference.

"Is showing up late a habit of yours?" he asks, tone half playful as he tries to earn her smile back and half resentful as he looks at her bright scarlet collar.

"It's three bloody minutes," she responds. "Don't pretend you had anything better to do."

"I assure you, I have plenty of other things to do - which I will go and do if you don't start behaving like a lady soon," he admonishes, the resentful side taking over as the wind blows another whiff of Cain's cologne toward him.

"I'm so very sorry if I offended you," she feigns, eyes wide and tone sickly sweet. She drops into a curtesy, short and shallow, before adding, "Am I being enough of a lady for you now, sir?"

"Cass, you chose to be here," he chides. "Stop acting like a child or I'll take away your favorite toy."

She glares at him, "People aren't toys, Tom."

"They are to people like me and you," he says brusquely. "Let's go."

* * *

They apparate in front of what used to be a row of warehouses in the far south of London. The street around them and - at least it seems from the outside - the buildings on it are entirely empty, not a soul in sight for what feels like miles. The sidewalk under them crunches with years of settled dust, what's left of the windows in front of them is covered in a dark brown layer of grime, and the iron doors look rusted through.

Tom looks over to see Cassandra's face scrunched up, her nose upturned. He steps off the curb, calling behind him, "Watch your step."

She does not respond, only the sound of her heels clicking on the ground behind him confirming that she is still there. The door unlocks automatically when he touches his wand against it, sliding to the side to allow them to pass. It is a special spell he made so that only he can determine which wands will grant access. The others have a password too, of course, one that is always changing to provide extra security just in case their wands are stolen or something, but he does not need such precautions for himself.

He turns back, offering an arm to her. Her hand hooks through the crook of his elbow and rests on his bicep as she steps up beside him while placing her other hand on his forearm for additional balance on the cracked concrete. Most likely, she assumes it is necessary for her to be connected with him in order to be able to enter, which is exactly why he waited until this moment to touch her.

They pass through a second door that takes them into a narrow tunnel connecting the buildings. There is another door at the end and then finally a wide open space, two stories tall with spotless tan tiles on the floor, ornately carved wooden archways supporting the gallery surrounding the open center space, and a curved roof made almost entirely of glass supported by crawling iron. It is definitely not what she expected to find in a place like this. The center of the room is filled with three long rows of large cauldrons, probably 60 or so in total, not even counting a final column of 10 all the way at the back under the shade of the arches.

Tom stops in the corner to pull his coat off and hang it up on a rack. He tilts his head toward her and she obliges, figuring it is better than fainting in the heat of the room given all the fires going. She pulls her own coat off and hands it to him, only to reveal a dark green dress underneath. He smirks and lets her step away.

Cassandra steps forward, walking carefully down the first row, reading the little plaques placed on the front of each cauldron with the name of the potion and instructions for it. She notices most are already improved upon from the original recipe but, as someone whose solace in magic is in potion brewing, she does think of quite a few changes that could still be made.

It is when she gets to one potion she is particularly familiar with that she cannot help but speak up, "You should add mint to the Antidote to Veritaserum. Helps the frog's brains go down and also seems to invigorate the mind a bit to speed up the effects."

"I will make a note. Thank you, Cassandra," he says, watching her from the end of the row.

She does not like when he calls her by her full name. At first, she hadn't liked when he'd called her _Cass_ , always in such a snide tone and always meant to piss her off. Somehow, that had faded with time, and it had started to sound more natural coming from his lips, to the point that she could almost completely ignore it.

It is worse when he says _Cassandra_ , like she can feel him caressing her name in his mouth, contorting the _ss_ sound into something slippery, puffing his lips out to end on a hard _a_. It somehow seems more intimate coming from him than even the nickname she only allows one other person to use - though not as intimate as his own special nickname for her, the one that seems to make her heart jump every time he utters it. More so after their last encounter, after that smug little question that she still finds ringing in her head while she is trying to fall asleep: _Do you want to orgasm for me already, little harpy?_

She turns back to the cauldrons and keeps walking, though she can hear his footsteps behind her which makes her want to run. She can feel him getting closer, that sandalwood scent that always lingers on her after he is gone almost drowning her as he stops beside her. She is not paying attention as she goes to take her next step and she trips, seconds short from falling headfirst into a bubbling potion before he grabs her and pulls her back until her back is pressed against his chest.

"I did warn you to watch your step, didn't I, little harpy?" he taunts in her ear. She can feel his breath sweeping down her neck, can feel his fingers splayed out against her waist and his arm wrapped around her tensed abdomen. She knows she is blushing, though she is trying to hide it by looking down. What is harder to hide is the slight shaking.

"Sorry," she mumbles, trying to push away. He does not allow her to put even a centimeter of space between them.

"Do you feel afraid when I touch you, Cassandra?" he hisses, his voice sending electric signals down to her knees.

"Considering you nearly bloody choked me once, I have reason to be," she snaps back, quickly thinking of an easy explanation for her physical reaction. What she really feels right now is the farthest thing from afraid. At least, the farthest thing from being afraid of him. She's more afraid of herself right now, afraid of how easy it would be for her to give in and justify it afterward, afraid of who she will be if she does this with him of all people. What kind of monster would that make her, to want a monster like him - especially over someone like Cain?

He hums and she can feel his chest vibrate against her. His hand crawls up from her waist to her neck, his fingers pressing lightly, before he says, "How interesting that you don't seem to mind it now."

Seriously, fuck him. Asking her questions he already knows the answer to. Daring to know the answer to them in the first place. Being able to read every tiny reaction he draws out of her. She has put years of work into hiding her true self from others. She is not this transparent to anybody else, and she resents him for being able to see her.

Except definitely don't fuck him, she reminds herself a second too late. Her hips have already shifted back against him, the slight pressure making his own reaction obvious as it presses against her. She moves only an inch away before his other hand grabs her side and leads her back. A low growl escapes his throat to land in her ear as the friction between them increases. She freezes, not giving him anything more back.

His fingers stroke against her neck, her heart racing higher and higher as she tries to convince herself it is just from fear. Finally, they stop, drifting to one side and resting there. He holds her in place as he leans down and kisses her neck before saying, "I am sorry I hurt you, Cassandra. Trust that I will never do so again."

It's true. He is sorry. It has made things so much more difficult between them. He needs her to let down her guard. He needs her to give in. He needs her.

He lets go of her, stepping back and away. Her heels click on the ground again as she continues walking, choosing to ignore him for now. Only when she reaches the end of the row and enough time has passed for both of them to calm down does she speak up again.

"Who made these recipes?"

"Various people," he lies, walking toward her again slowly. "Why?"

"They're a bit amateur," she responds, looking at the potion instead of him.

"They do the job," he answers with a shrug.

"And what job is that, Tom?" she asks, turning back to face him.

"You are smart enough to figure that out yourself, Cass," he responds, smirking.

"Some of these could potentially be used for very bad and dangerous things."

"So?"

"You don't feel guilty, putting them out in to the world?"

"I just make them. Its the people that buy them that decide what to do with them," he answers nonchalantly. "Are you having second thoughts about our dealings, Cassandra?"

"If you didn't make them or if I don't supply the ingredients for them, someone else would, and they would still buy them anyway, wouldn't they?" she says, not breaking his gaze.

"It appears we have the same view of humanity."

"I suspect you aren't surprised by that. After all, many people who have spent the last three years pretending they are better than me are selfish enough that they would have done the same if they had the nerve."

"Morality is cowardice in disguise," Tom quips before tilting his head to look past her. "Here comes the head potioneer now. Perhaps you can share your thoughts on how to improve his work now."

Tom pulls her to him with an arm around her waist - claiming ownership, as she has noticed he always does when they are in public. It is not something she likes, this constant signaling of his control over her to other people. Even if she does, secretly, feel a little more safe from everybody's gossip and glares when he does it.

She looks away from him to the man striding toward them and is immediately _very_ grateful for Tom's little tic today. He looks fresh out of Hogwarts, despite the rough beard and shaggy hair he is sporting.

"Dolohov, please meet Ms. Cassandra Malecrit," Tom announces.

"We're acquainted, Tom," she says, with a smile full of malice. "Dolohov was a guest at the Rosier's Christmas dinner. He had some choice words to share regarding my presence there. Though perhaps he will make a better impression this time."

The man's eyes immediately shoot to Tom, his voice rushed, "I am sorry, my lord. I didn't realize you…"

_My lord_. What an interesting way to refer to someone, she thinks. Especially someone without any noble blood of any kind, as far as he has let on.

"Yes, well now you do," Tom says evenly, realizing she has caught the title and not wanting to risk any other leaks of information by letting him continue groveling. "However, I don't think I am the one you should be apologizing to."

"Of course. My deepest regrets, Ms. Malecrit."

"Come now, I am sure you would have absolutely no regrets if you were meeting me again alone. Though from what you said you'd like to do to teach me a lesson, I am rather glad that is not the case currently."

She sees the look of concentration on Tom's face, along with the corresponding look of emptiness on Dolohov's, and knows she does not need to elaborate. Tom is already pulling the memory directly from his mind, and from the way he scowls a few seconds later as he drops back into his own head, he does not like it one bit.

"Please…" Dolohov starts again, his head bowed so low she thinks he is going to fall to the ground anytime now.

"We can _discuss_ this later," Tom says sternly.

Is it sick that she's enjoying this? Enjoying getting her petty little revenge on this petty little man without even having to lift a finger. Enjoying knowing that Tom does not want to deal with the situation nearly as diplomatically as Cain did.

"Personally, I would really prefer if we could discuss it now," Cassandra says with a smirk. "If you don't mind. After all, I am going to have to work with this… _man_."

"Cassandra, if you think I am going to let him get anywhere near you without me around, you clearly underestimate me."

"I don't need your protection, Tom. Just your permission, I assume."

He looks her over, noticing the way she is holding her wand, the way her eyes do not break away from Dolohov's obviously terrified face. He's curious, so he just nods.

The spell she whispers is one unknown to him, which means she must have created it because he has read every book on curses imaginable, "Calorcorpus."

The effect is slow, but truly magical. Within minutes, Dolohov is kneeled on the floor, tearing at his own skin and clothes, screaming and sweating and begging. There is no outside damage, but he can tell this is a very physical spell, unlike crucio which just plays with the mind.

"What is it?" he asks, too fascinated to hold back the question any longer despite his wish to appear to know everything.

"It raises the temperature of one's blood slowly and to excruciating heights," she says without flinching or looking away. "If you don't want to suffer any permanent damage today, I would suggest you mean your apology this time"

Dolohov gasps out the apology over and over again, a prayer for relief.

Tom knows he can't love, but _damn_.

She ends the spell and immediately mentally curses herself for doing it in the first place. She promised herself she wouldn't hurt people anymore - but that only applied to good people, _innocent_ people. She could guess from the way Dolohov had leered at her the very second he had seen her that he was not one of those. A quick dip into his mind had confirmed as much, had shown that his threats to her were ones he had actually carried out against other women before. It was fair to punish him for his past acts alone, wasn't it? Surely he would think twice before repeating such behavior again now.

Tom dismisses Dolohov to go and clean himself up with just a motion of a hand. As soon as the other man is out of the room, Tom turns to look at her.

"It seems you enjoyed that very much. It would be nice if you thanked me for giving permission," he says, a smirk on his face and an eyebrow raised.

She laughs, "Perhaps if you'd made that a condition I would have reconsidered how serious my need for revenge really was."

"Would you have?" he teases, his arm around her pulling her against his chest. From the way she is still actually smiling, he knows the answer is no. He hisses in her ear, "Somebody who can do that cannot possibly be satisfied with the fucking a man on the straight and narrow can give her."

"Actually, I'm very satisfied," she hisses back.

"I could give you so much more."

"Really? More than the heir of the most prominent wizarding family in England? Enlighten me, what are you the heir of?"

His eyes harden into a glare. If only she knew. If only he could tell her, but he does not trust her not to use it against him right now. He simply says, "Perhaps one day we can go into that. For now, all you need to know is that I am a self-made man, Cassandra - much like you."

"Nice attempt at flattery. Cain doesn't shrink from such questions," she bites as she pulls away, still trying to resist him. It has the effect she is hoping for, intensifying Tom's rage. Honestly, at this point, she is almost hoping he will hurt her again. Anything to give her an excuse to end this.

"There is a lot he does shrink from though, isn't there? Like me," Tom just replies, needling her back. His arms are crossed behind his back, his knuckles red from how tight his fists are as he reminds himself he cannot afford to push her away again. He knows she will not come back next time, no matter what he threatens.

She nearly rolls her eyes. Merlin, if he meant what he said earlier, she would never get rid of him, she thinks. She is not sure if that's because she wouldn't want to or if that's because he won't go. She shifts her attention back to who it should be on, who she reminds herself it should always be on. Cain.

"He is just afraid you are going to hurt me."

"That's not what he is afraid of, and we both know it."

"No. I know it is, because I know he loves me."

"Does he know you don't love him?"

"He knows I do."

"Then I guess you are better at lying to him than you are to me."

It is her turn to glare this time. He swears he hears a muttered " _prick_ " before she steps back. She pivots away from him and starts walking quickly down the rows of cauldrons, only scanning the name cards briefly as she goes by this time. He chuckles under his breath and watches her, knowing she is making mental notes of criticism about each recipe that she will share at some later date, when she is not as agitated.

She finally reaches the ten cauldrons set aside under the shade, following them back towards him. It is at the last one that she calls out, "What is this one? It's not labeled."

"You don't recognize it?" Tom asks, curious. He knows what it is, of course, and he thinks he should not be surprised that she does not. He wouldn't if he hadn't been the one to determine the layout of all the potions. But then again, maybe a part of him had thought that there was a remote possibility her words had been true instead of just an attempt to push him away.

"No. I have never made a potion this color before," she answers, the fact that she is still trying to puzzle it out in her head showing on her face.

"What ingredients does it smell like?"

She looks at him, eyes narrowing as the question - and her lack of an answer to it - triggers the name of a potion in her brain. It is her turn to act coy, "I'm not sure what to call it exactly. What do you think?"

He steps forward, playing along, ready to string her on further. Then it hits him. Roses, coffee grounds, leather bound notebooks. It is too strong to come from her, and it isn't what she smells like today anyway, a fact he has not been able to get out of his head since she walked up to him in Knockturn Alley. _What the fuck?_

He had never smelled anything from amortentia before.

Perhaps she will be his unmaking, he thinks to himself, half desperate to have her and half terrified of it.

He stops on his way to her and she realizes she does not want an answer from him. She rushes to say, "I recognize it now. Wood, freshly cut grass, and lemons."

Its Rosier's cologne. Its what Tom is really smelling coming off of her today.

What kind of cosmic irony is it that the one person he can't kill is the one person he wants to kill the most?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Question for everybody: The next chapter is already written, just needs writing/finalizing. It is actually a continuation of the same day as this one. I wanted to post them together but thought that might be overwhelming to read. I can either a) stick to my regular schedule and post it next weekend or b) post it within the next few days, but then I can't promise a regular update next weekend.
> 
> Please comment and let me know what you would prefer :) As always, I love to hear any feedback (good or bad, really) you have at all. Thanks for reading!


	16. Snakes in the Grass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreams are dreams because, in them, only our own decisions and desires matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I've got all the money to buy exactly what I want / But you're not for sale" - Hook Line and Sinker by Royal Blood

Cassandra expects to enjoy the dinner tonight for two main reasons. First, Cain had informed her Roland would not be attending as he’d suffered an unfortunate accident that had resulted in shattering all of the bones in his right arm. Though she is not happy that Tom hadn’t listened to her, she has to admit she is relieved that she won’t be dealing with Lestrange’s constant jibes all through the meal. Second, Tom hadn’t mentioned it at all, so she does not expect him to be in attendance, which is a relief.

She apparates back to Cain’s townhouse just fifteen minutes before 7 p.m. He is pacing back and forth in the foyer. She rushes upstairs, yelling back, “Hello darling. Just have to change.”

“We are going to be late, Cass,” he calls, trudging up the stairs behind her.

“Relax, it only takes a minute to apparate,” she says, her original dress already discarded on the floor as she summons the one for this evening to her. It is a strapless, tea length lilac purple number, covered in tulle that gathers at the bust and poofs out at the waist, with beading like wings sweeping across the bodice and down the hips. She had carefully designed it to fit the motif of her own family crest just for this event.

“Where were you?” he asks, reaching out to zip it up for her.

“I told you. I had a business meeting that couldn’t be rescheduled,” she responds while leaning over to grab her jewelry from the nightstand. She is still putting it on when she turns to him and says, “Ready! Told you we wouldn’t be late. I’ll side along with you?”

Cain can almost feel Tom dripping off of her. There is just something about the vagueness of her answer - not to mention the shade of fabric that is crumpled up on the floor next to her side of the bed - that begets no other explanation. Then he sees that little reminder of him when she reaches up to put on her earrings and it confirms his speculations.

“Everything alright, Cain? Are you ready to go?” she asks in response to his blank stare.

“You forgot something,” he answers quietly, reaching for her hand.

“Damn, right. That blasted…” she mumbles as she pulls it back before tapping her wand against her wrist to cast a concealing charm over the mark. She always keeps it hidden around him - around anyone except Tom, in fact. She knows there is no point hiding it in front of Tom, because he’d probably just remove whatever spell or piece of fabric covered it anyway.

Cain had never asked her why it was there in the first place, or anything else about it, a gesture she both appreciates and resents. How far will his acceptance of Tom’s behavior extend, she wonders? It seems like Tom could do anything to her in front of him and he wouldn’t even flinch. She can see it bothers him and yet he holds his tongue, ever the gentlemen. Ever a man who avoids making others uncomfortable in any way. She normally likes that about him, but can’t he summon _some_ indignation and be rude just this once, even if it is to her? Even if he’s afraid that Tom’s going to do something about it, isn’t she worth that to him?

But Cain knows exactly what Tom had done to Roland just for speaking ill of her and, no, his jealousy cannot possibly be worth _that_. Several minutes of crucio, hours of breaking bones only to regrow them and do it again, nearly an entire night of almost bleeding out only to have the blood spelled back in so he could be cursed again. He hadn’t even looked like a person anymore when Tom had finally allowed the other men to scoop him up and attend to his injuries. He still remembers Tom’s threat and the way his eyes had gleamed with the desire to have an excuse to carry it out, and he cannot imagine how much worse what Tom has in store for him is. So he can grin and bear it for now. As long as Tom does not hurt her. As long as Tom will still let him have her, even if it is like this.

She is still looking down as she nearly whispers, “I will figure out how to remove it soon, I promise.”

Does any of it matter, he thinks? She is with him now. She is standing across from him and looking at him with care and concern in her eyes, something he has never seen her look at Tom with. She is holding his hand and touching his chest and looking up at him with those big eyes. She is going to his family events and wearing the necklace he gave her last night, a string of silver and diamond roses.

“What are you looking at now?” she teases, the ghost of a smile on her face.

“You. You’re beautiful, Cinderella,” he says with a wide grin. 

“You don’t look so bad yourself, Prince Charming,” she says. She smiles back and leans forward to capture his lips briefly. 

Thank Merlin she still tastes like her. He groans as she pulls away, his hand coming up to land on top of hers on his chest and keep her near him as he whispers, “We can be a bit late, can’t we, Cass?”

“Weren’t you just admonishing me for that, Cain?” she teases. “Besides, I do need a break every one in a while and it’s only been, what, four hours?”

“You were away for too long,” he mumbles, kissing her again. If they could spend eternity together, just the two of them, away from all that, he could be this happy forever. If only he had been the one to find her first after all those years of searching.

She laughs, bright and carefree again for a second, “If two hours is too long, I can’t imagine how you have been dealing with my being in France for the entire work week.”

“Badly. Good thing you don’t _have_ to stay there. If you wanted to -”

She cuts him off softly, “If we don’t apparate now, we really are going to be late.”

He forces a smile and nods. Still always cutting him off too soon. 

* * *

The dinner goes well, though Cassandra purposefully stays as quiet as she can during it. Instead, she allows Druella and Cygnus to dominate the conversation with talk of their baby and ignores the way Cain’s mother and father look pointedly at them while praising the new parents. She and Cain had only been dating for nine months now. She’d forgotten how fast purebloods moved with this sort of thing, especially when they were waiting for their heir to create more heirs. 

At one point she had nearly spit up her food when they had commented that three children was too few in response to Druella and Cygnus’ future plans. They’d continued to wax on about how they wished they had more. These days, they said, five was the bare minimum one could have to fulfill their duty as part of a generation where the number of families like theirs were constantly dwindling. Five? She can’t imagine having one little bundle of annoyance crawling around her all the time - but she does suppose that is a rather essential part of the job they seem to think she is trying out for. 

At some point, she supposes, she will have to decide if having him is worth taking that job. Cain won’t let her keep dodging the question forever. It is already hiding behind nearly every conversation they have. Briefly, she wonders if Tom would come to their wedding, before admonishing herself for it and pushing it out of her head. She focuses back on the conversation again, lifting her glass to join in a toast wishing the next child of theirs to be a boy with a smile that she knows is too obviously contrived.

After dinner, the Rosiers have their house elves open the ballroom and new guests start trickling in to this expanded celebration, though the party still remains small compared to one of their usual balls. Once the majority of people have arrived and have their cocktails in hand, Cain obliges his parents by pulling her to the dance floor with him for an opening dance by the three couples. She relaxes into his hold, resting her head against his shoulder for a second before the music starts and taking a breath.

“I’m sorry about that,” Cain whispers into her ear as the music starts. He is gentle as he leads her along, never surprising her with a move that is a sudden departure from the traditional pattern or pushing her hand too far out to the side. He is always gentle with her.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, darling,” she whispers back.

He lets the music fill the silence between them for a minute or so before he says, “They would be cute though, wouldn’t they?”

“What?” she asks, looking up in surprise, hoping he is talking about something other than the obvious.

“Our children,” he responds evenly, not letting the fear in her eyes stop him, hoping that she won’t break him by denying him his dreams here. The dance floor is filling up now as the song changes and the other couples at the party start joining in.

“Yes, with our combined talent and good looks, they could take over the world,” she says with a short laugh. Neither of them is sure if she’s being sarcastic or sincere.

“One will be a famous international quidditch player and the other a renowned researcher creating new potions and spells.”

“And the other three your parents seem to insist we have?” she asks with an eyebrow raised. His heart soars and he pulls her a touch closer. Maybe his dreams are not as ridiculous as he feared she would find them. 

He chuckles, “Do you think I would put you through that, Cass?”

“Oh, but it would really give me something to fill up my day, just like for your sister. You don’t want me to get bored, now do you, darling?” she teases. It would not be so bad, she thinks, to live the rest of her life under the rays of his love. To get to see what a proper childhood is like vicariously through their children. She can think of no one more made to be a father than Cain.

“If your weekends are any indication, your days are already full enough, love,” he answers, looking into her eyes. He wants to kiss her, but he knows it would be an impermissible breach of manners to do so here.

A cough from the side interrupts them and both of their heads shoot around, eyes landing on Tom’s face at the same time. He had decided to come just after she had left. He hadn’t been able to stand the thought of allowing Cain this special, symbolic night with her, so he had made up his mind to meddle with it instead. He has changed into a pair of dress robes appropriate for the occasion and is standing there with his hands behind his back and a dashing smirk on his face, having already drawn the gaze of every girl - and nearly everybody - in the room on his walk over. Cassandra does not miss the fact that the three of them are still being watched.

“I was hoping I might be able to get that dance you owe me, Cassandra. If your date does not mind, of course,” he declares, his tone making it clear it is a demand and not a question.

How crazy and cruel does he have to be to try to claim her here, at Cain’s ancestral manor, during his family’s party, in front of his parents?

Cain moves to drop her hand and step away, but she only tightens her grip on him as she says back tersely, “I don’t recall owing you any dance, Tom.”

His smirk drops and his eyes darken just a tad. He knows he had technically given her the choice to say no, but he does not appreciate her taking advantage of it. Voice strained for control, he responds, “Perhaps you will let me have the dance anyway.”

“I don’t think I will,” she argues back with a tight smile.

Tom turns to Cain, “Rosier, tell your…”

“ _I_ said no, Tom,” she admonishes.

He tilts his head back to her, eyes glinting red. She sees them fall on her necklace for a second and wonders if he is going to tear it off right there. They come back up to meet hers, still stubbornly focused on him, a smirk on his face and his tone flat, “As you wish, Cass.”

She is the one to pull Cain back in and start leading them as she picks up the dance again. Cain is still watching Tom walk away. He is not sure how to proceed. In a sense, he feels vindicated. In a much more important sense, he feels scared. For Merlin’s sake, Tom is not even supposed to be here. He had been left off the invitation list on purpose. Crossed off and been told nothing about the event, in fact. How the fuck was he always getting in the way just when things were going well between them, just when he thought he could breathe for a minute?

Another dance or two passes in silence before she finally speaks up, “What’s that scowl you are hiding about?”

She knows what it is about, and it irks her. Even if he was really going to give in to Tom that easily, she was not. She had been the one to throw herself under the bus for him, the least he could do was enjoy their resulting time together.

“Just thinking about an issue at work. My apologies, Cass,” he whispers, lips grazing her cheek as he swings toward her slightly. He will not take out his frustration on her. It isn’t her fault that she’d met Tom or captured his attention. Cain think it’s rather his own fault for pandering to Tom’s curiosity in the first place. 

* * *

To her relief, Tom does not interrupt them again while they dance or while they make their rounds of small talk around the room. Cain is engrossed in a conversation about the upcoming quidditch world cup with some of his work acquaintances when she smiles at them and excuses herself to powder her nose. She just needs a minute out of the crowd. She is still not used to such parties again - after so many years alone, to be thrust into his spotlight is more jarring than enjoyable.

She slips into the back parlor and sits on a bench while staring out of the windows, relishing in a few moments of peace and quiet before she hears the doors creak open and looks to see who has interrupted her.

“Hello, Cassandra. I just saw you leave and wanted to make sure you weren’t feeling unwell. Is there anything I can get you?” Cain’s mother asks with a friendly smile.

“No, Mrs. Rosier,” she says, reflexively deferent. “I apologize for sneaking around, I just wanted to rest for a minute.”

“It’s no trouble. As always, you should feel free to make yourself at home here,” the older woman responds as she glides toward her.

Cassandra immediately senses what will come next. Even for Evangeline Rosier, she is being a bit too kind. She forces a polite smile on her face as she responds, “Thank you, Mrs. Rosier. I appreciate all of your family’s generosity over the years, as I hope you know.”

“As I hope you know based on our dinner conversation, we hope for such generosity to continue for many more years.”

“Yes, well we will see how things go, won’t we?” she remarks with a tight smile. The smile Evangeline returns is so forced that it makes Cassandra want to gag.

“Yes, we will. To be honest, some of your past behavior was rather… unfortunate, but I understand you have had some difficulties in life. We are more than happy to excuse your mistakes and accept you as part of our family anyway, Cassandra. However, it would be remise of me not to warn you that if you hurt my son again, the warm welcome we have offered you so far will cease to exist.”

Cassandra resists narrowing her eyes or dropping her smile, “I understand, Mrs. Rosier. I know you care very deeply about Cain’s wellbeing. Please rest assured that I do too.”

Evangeline squares her shoulders across from her, looking down haughtily, “Then I would advise you to stop whatever it is going on between you and Tom Riddle as soon as possible. Before you argue, I have heard first-hand accounts from several witnesses to your - friendship, shall we call it - not to mention seeing it myself just a little while ago. I will admit that young man has a certain amount of appeal which even I have found hard to resist, but one must remember what they have to lose.”

“Friendship is exactly what it is called,” Cassandra responds, standing so they are eye to eye. “While you may have found him hard to resist, I have not. Though I can hardly see how it would be your business if I didn’t, rather than your son’s. He is a grown man, Mrs. Rosier. I am sure if he has an issue with my _friends_ , who are also his friends, he and I can reach a resolution on it between ourselves.”

Cassandra looks straight at her, daring her to respond. After a few seconds of stunned silence from the other woman, she continues.

“As for being welcomed by your family, you don’t have to worry about that. Your husband already demonstrated the extent of my welcome more than a decade ago. I think it was when I was 13, to be exact, that he explained to me what a bad investment I was and, as such, how I would never become a part of the Rosier clan. I did not got the chance to thank him for that very detailed explanation then, though I did learn a lot from it that has helped me manage my business to this day. While he was certainly very nice tonight and may regret his words now - perhaps because my father is no longer alive to leech off him, or perhaps because I now have my own fortune, or perhaps because he saw the effect they ultimately had on his son - rest assured that I have not and will not forget them, Mrs. Rosier. I do not entertain any thought of ever becoming part of this family, nor do I need any welcome from it.”

They always say you shouldn’t make any decisions when emotional, but she feels like now is a perfect moment to make this one. To think she had forgotten why she had been so adamant about nothing happening between them all those years ago. Even more than she did then, the last thing she wants is to be pitied. The last thing she wants is to be at somebody else’s mercy, forced to smile as she is treated less than. Cain might not have ever been like that to her, but she is not going to play the role of dutiful pureblood wife and have five fucking kids to please two people who always have been. 

Cassandra moves to get back to the party, but is stopped by the spluttering of the women across from her, “Perhaps some things were said and done in the past that we all regret now, but surely we can move on from them. We want you to be part of this family, Cassandra. Cain wants you to be part of this family.”

“No, I don’t think I can. I don’t think we have, because you still thought you could come in here and tell me what to do. Don’t worry, though. Surely you can find some other pureblood bitch to pop out your future heirs, Evangeline.”

“He only wants you,” the older woman pleads, her dignity faltering for a second.

The determination in Cassandra’s voice does not as she responds, “Should I leave it to you to explain to him why that won’t be happening then, or would you prefer if I relay this conversation to him myself?”

“Please, after everything we have done for you, you have to ma-”

Cassandra laughs, “I’m sorry, do you really think the fact that you forced your help onto me in my youth means I have to give your son everything he wants now?”

Evangeline draws in a deep breath, pulling herself up to her usually regal stance. Her voice is stoic as she answers, “Yes, Cassandra. I do. You would be dead without me.”

“I was more than capable of surviving myself,” she snaps. “I will keep dating Cain, whether or not this family welcomes me - but for your sake, if he ever insists on an answer, I will let you be the one to explain to him why it is what it will be.”

She stomps out and back to the ballroom, walking quickly on purpose so as not to give her the chance to have another word. Another appeal. She could change her mind, she knows. It would be so easy, to be married to Cain. Everything would be perfect, wouldn’t it? Perfect husband, perfect house, perfect kids, perfect life. A perfect life she had wanted, at one point in time. Maybe not with him - she didn’t think it was really a possibility then - but with someone. 

Too bad she had already tried out that perfect life once and found it not to be nearly as perfect as it seemed. Cain is not him, she reminds herself. She knows Cain, has known him since they were five years old, has watched him and his entire personality develop. He would never hurt her. Not in any way. Not at all. Cain really is as close to perfect as they come.

She is about to go back to him, still chattering on with his work colleagues from the looks of it, when she sees Tom standing with Nott, Avery, and a few other men she does not recognize off to the side of the room. Behind her, a flash of an elegant black dress indicates to her that Evangeline has returned to the room as well.

Merlin, she’d just _love_ to see her face.

Cassandra walks up to Tom, the smirk she is hiding slipping out as she taps him on the shoulder and he turns around, “Would you still like that dance I owe you?”

“Of course, Cass,” he responds, a matching smirk on his face. He does not know what has come over her, but it is a fortuitous and timely development. He had just been pondering having somebody poison Cain’s drink while she was out of the room. Not anything deadly, yet, mind you. Just enough to make him sick for the rest of the evening.

He offers her arm to him and she takes it, threading hers through. Before leading them over to the dance floor, he leans down to hiss in her ear, “In fact, I would like many more if you would allow me.”

She laughs, “Perhaps we can come to an agreement.”

Nott turns to Avery with a shrug, slipping the vial of clear liquid into his pocket as Tom signals back at him, “Guess I don’t need this anymore.”

Pondering was perhaps an understatement.

* * *

The first song is almost over before she proposes an idea. The mystery has been building up long enough already. She wants answers, and he’d told her what he wants already.

“Do you want to make another deal Tom? One dance, one question.”

“Depends. What are these questions about, Cassandra?”

“You. Your friends. If you don’t want to answer anymore, we can stop at any time. I can go back to my date and you can find whoever it is you convinced to invite you here.”

Maybe he should have gone through with it, Tom thinks. Then again, she would probably have known it was him no matter what happened to Cain and where he was at the time. Then she would only want to hate him more, which is the exact opposite of what he is trying to accomplish.

“Ask away, Cass,” he invites as the next song starts.

“The money from the potions - what is it used for?” she starts, voice hushed to prevent them from being overheard. A perfect excuse for him to lean in closer to her.

“Various things.”

“You and I both know that’s not an answer.”

“Primarily, bribes.”

“For what?”

“That’s a second question.”

“I know.”

“Getting certain officials in the ministry to support certain policies.”

“That’s hardly an answer, Tom,” she complains, fingers tapping lightly against his shoulder in what she thinks is an admonishment.

“I am sure you have already extrapolated one, Cassandra,” he hisses back, his fingers digging into the fabric of her dress to pull her hips against his.

“From the fact that nearly everyone I have seen you speak to is a pureblood, and your five closest _friends_ happen to be from some of the most well known families for supporting blood supremacy?”

“I won’t count that as a question,” he says, implying the answer. He catches himself hoping that what comes out of her mouth next will not be laced with disapproval and reminds himself that his are the unquestionably correct views.

“Alright, I will give you another question then. Why are they your friends?”

“You might claim you don’t, but some people do find me very charming, Cass.”

“Since you won’t answer, let me guess. First, they all do believe in whatever it is you are leading them towards, to some extent at least. Nott is easy for that reason, a true believer if there ever was one, clearly idolizes you. Mulciber seems to think he can ride your coattails to greater prominence for his family since he’s the only one in your inner circle not in the Sacred 28. Avery’s probably benefiting from the money, given that his family has been staving off bankruptcy for decades. Which leaves Lestrange and Rosier. Stop me if I am incorrect on any of the ones I have guessed at so far.”

“As near as I can tell, no,” he confirms, his hand shifting from her waist so that he can wrap his arm around her. He inhales deeply, letting her smell overtake him. It is a bad idea to be talking about such things here - a bad idea to be telling her such things in the first place - but if she will let him do this while they do, he will keep playing along.

“Lestrange is another easy one. He has nothing else to do, and he enjoys having power over people. Cain - I can only guess you have something over him.”

“Would it devastate you to know that wasn’t true, Cass?”

“I am no stranger to his beliefs, Tom.”

“I didn’t think it was his beliefs that you would object to.”

“If he’s done anything, it’s only because you made him.”

He hates that she insists he is a monster while acting like Cain is an angel. As if any of them even had wings to lose in the first place. He sneers, “Like you will claim I made you dance with me later? 

“You are a prick,” she snorts, trying to pull away from him without any luck.

“So you claim to think.”

“I don’t like you.”

“Untrue.”

“I don’t like the things you do.”

“But you seem to like it very much when I touch you, little harpy.”

“The other things,” she fires back. There it is. An admission, finally. He smirks. She scowls and turns away to hide the blush creeping onto her cheeks.

“If I promise to play nice, will you give in to what we both want?” he whispers into her ear, his fingers trailing teasingly up and down her back.

“Play nice?” she asks for clarification, resisting the urge to rip his hand off of her. There is something about the coldness of his touch radiating into her spine and the warmth of his breathwashing over her neck that is too much to bear.

“I won’t bother him again. Permanently,” he offers. He knows it is all she really wants, to protect Cain. Her own life is already in pieces - she is already in pieces. The last thing she wants is for the same to happen to him, her perfect prince, her sweet dream of a gentleman. The last thing she wants is for Tom to break him, and the only thing Tom wants even more than his best soldier is to have her.

Tom pushes down the flare up of anger that comes at seeing the way her eyes light up as she considers his offer. Really, he should be thanking Cain. If she cared an ounce more about her own happiness or an ounce less about his, she would have been gone months earlier. If she hadn’t wanted to see him again in the first place, she would have wriggled out of Tom’s grip the second he showed her who he really was. He needs Cain to have her. The last thing he wants is for Cain to have her.

“Would I have to listen to you?” she asks after a few moments of measuring her options.

“Yes.”

“Then no.”

“Why not?”

“Because I know what you are going to ask for first, Tom. I won’t stop seeing him,” she objects. Cain is the only thing teetering her to life anymore, to hope and happiness and a future not as bleak as the past. Besides, what Tom is offering is barely a deal, just a trade off of different kinds of pain for him. Physically or emotionally, she really is going to make sure she is never the reason for any pain Cain suffers ever again.

“It is a small price to pay for everything you want. Him safe. You satisfied,” Tom hisses in her ear. The snake in the garden of eden, promising true paradise while being the ruin of the one she is already in.

“No, it’s not. And, even if it was, I would never agree to follow someone blindly,” she insists. If only his voice wasn’t just as convincing, she wouldn’t be second guessing herself right now. If only his fingers weren’t still dancing across her back, prompting her to shift forward into him and then draw away again every few seconds.

His laugh chimes in her ear, the smugness under it making her want to kiss him just to shut him up. He says, “But we could have so much _fun_ together.”

“That’s funny - fun is not how I would describe any of our interactions thus far.”

“You cannot lie to me, Cassandra. I can tell you are having fun right now,” he leans down, teasing her with a whisper in her ear and the threat of his lips brushing her skin. 

Her heart is beating a mile a minute and if her hand wasn’t so firmly locked in his, she probably would have drawn her wand by now. She decides a change of subject is long overdue, “So what is this group of yours called?”

“Why do you want to know?” he asks, pulling back as she had hoped. Maybe she has pushed him far enough, she thinks. Maybe he will end their dance himself.

“Well I’m practically a part of it, aren’t I?”

“To be part of it, you would have to agree to obey me - which you just insisted you will not do.”

“It’s not like I’m choosing to be part of it, is it?”

“It sounds like you want to.”

“If it means following you, certainly not.”

“I recognize you are capable of much more than just following me, little harpy.”

The question comes out of her before she can help herself, “Then why are you always forcing me to bend to your will, Tom?”

“Because I don’t like the things you do either, Cassandra,” he says, looking into her eyes. “Since I refuse to allow myself to take that out on you despite the frequency of your verbal lashings, Rosier is a lucky man to have you standing between us.”

Fuck. It dawned on Cassandra that she’d forgotten Cain was even here. She had lost herself in the erratic sway of Tom’s body and the rhythmic elegance of his voice and completely overlooked where they were. 

He sees her look over at him and reminds her, “We still have six dances left, Cass.”

“Counting questions very generously, aren’t you, Tom?” she teases. Cain looks to still be busy talking to people anyway, an activity she had long ago lost patience for. Anyway, if he minded, he could always come and stop them.

“Seven. I would very much like to keep adding more, if you’ll oblige me.”

“It doesn’t count if its rhetorical - or if you don’t answer.”

“You should have specified the rules earlier.”

“Why bother when you never seem to follow them anyway?”

“I believe that’s eight now, little harpy.”

“Merlin, don’t make me cast a jelly legs curse on you,” she says with a sigh.

“Now that would just embarrass both of us, wouldn’t it?” he retorts. The corners of his mouth turn up when the start of a laugh escapes her lips before she stifles it and looks away from him again. “No more questions, Cassandra?”

“I think the rest are best saved for a room without so many wandering ears.”

They sway in silence, calm settling between them for the first time in a long time. Dancing with Tom is not so bad, all things considered. He has a way of improvising a move just as she is beginning to get bored, a way of pushing her just enough that she never gets too comfortable, a way of holding her just firmly enough that she never fears tripping. After a while, she lets her eyes slip closed and her head rest against his shoulder for a second to take a break. It is easy to pretend that things are different when they are like this - that they are different, that this is simple.

But they aren’t and it’s not, she remembers as she looks up and sees the eyes of others on her. She steps back again in an effort to try to keep from falling into him, but it is pointless because soon enough they have drifted back against each other and she is drowning in him again.

* * *

“What the fuck, sister?” Cain growls as he pulls her aside. Despite Druella being several years younger than him, they had been close enough growing up and still were, though their bond had admittedly faded since she got married right after school and, even more so, when she recently became a mother. Still, he knew she knew him - and all of the pureblood gossip - well enough to know he would not take kindly to this.

“Cygnus insisted we invite his siblings, and you know where Walburga goes so does Lucretia. Apparently, Riddle knows that as well. He asked her just a few hours ago.”

“Where is your cousin-in-law then?”

“She kind of stormed off when the first thing he did on walking in was leave to -”

“A predictable result you should have prevented by stopping her from attending with him in the first place, Druella.”

“I couldn’t have turned them away. Walburga already doesn’t like me.”

“Don’t worry so much about Walburga, _I_ don’t like you right now.”

“Don’t be overly sensitive, brother.”

“Overly sensitive? Have you gone blind?”

Druella rolls her eyes and glances over, seeing them still dancing together, “It’s a dance. You’ve always been too emotional about her for your own good.”

“A _dance_ is what everybody else is doing.”

“If you don’t like it, just go ask her to dance with you again.”

“How will that look when everybody is already saying -”

“Fine, I will extract her for you. Be the charming, thoughtful gentlemen you usually are and go fetch her a drink before meeting us at the table.”

Cain nods and walks toward the wine cellar. Champagne is just what he needs to make her eyes sparkle for him again instead of for that bastard.

When he gets back to the table, he is less than delighted. Druella is there with Cassandra of course, but so is Tom, still standing too close to her with a hand on the small of her back and the hint of a smirk behind his smile.

“Beauxbatons was actually founded first, Tom,” she argues.

“That may be true, however Hogwarts’ glory over the years has not faded, unlike Beauxbatons. It’s practically just a charm school these days.”

“Beauxbatons does teach serious magic, despite some of its less serious classes!”

“How much time there did you spend doing serious magic and how much did you spend learning proper table manners?”

“Enough time that I could teach you a thing or two about both,” Cassandra bickers before turning back to Druella. “Anyway, as I was saying, there is nothing wrong with sending your child to Beauxbatons if that is what you would prefer. It is just a different culture.”

“I beg to differ. There is something very wrong about depriving a child of the chance to be a Slytherin,” Tom bickers back.

She finally seems to notice Cain, her eyes drifting over to him standing next to his sister and a smile spreading over her face. She is about to step toward him when Tom’s hand slips from her back to her hip, tightening his grip to hold her in place. She shoots him a pointed look and he drops away, allowing her to go stand next to Cain instead. The entire exchange takes just a second or two, but that doesn’t mean nobody else had noticed it. She takes the glass from Cain’s hand and mutters a thank you while leaning up to kiss him on the cheek, both ignoring the glare from Tom that results.

The way Tom is looking at her nearly shouts _mine_. Tom never intended to let him have her, and definitely doesn’t intend it now, regardless of how generous he is about sharing her with him, Cain realizes - its her that’s keeping them together. 

“Cassandra, I just remembered I never had the chance to show you my wedding photos earlier. I think there are some upstairs if you’d like to come look,” Druella says, quick to try to dispel the tension in the air. At Cassandra’s hesitant look and lack of a response, Druella just takes her arm and adds, “Shall we see if any other ladies want to join us?”

Cassandra lets herself be pulled along after shooting one last look at the two men. If she comes back to find out _anything_ has happened to Cain, even a paper cut or a stain on his shirt, she is going to skin Tom alive.

“It seems you are enjoying your evening, Tom,” Cain says with a tight smile.

“Very much,” Tom responds, a wolfish grin on his face.

“I think now would be a good time for it to end.”

Tom laughs before mocking, “Are you trying to tell me what to do again, since that went so well for you last time?

Cain’s jaw clicks as he resists throwing a curse at his self-satisfied expression. Instead, he presses, “I am just advising you that there are many people here who could be helpful to you who would find your behavior tonight less than endearing.”

“Why is that?”

“This is my home and my party and she is my girlfriend.”

“Your girlfriend asked _me_ to dance, Cain, and I was being a perfect gentlemen.”

“A perfect gentlemen does not abandon his own date in favor of someone else’s.”

“Thank you for the lesson in manners, golden boy. How about one in language - can you still call her your date if she spends the majority of the evening with me?”

“How about one in psychology instead - will Cassandra ever dance with you again if I tell her what you were plotting with Nott and Avery earlier tonight?” Cain fires back. 

In a decade being Tom’s right hand man, he has seen all of Tom’s tricks. Hell, he’s helped carry most of them out. He might not have been top of their class like Tom, but he wasn’t far behind, thanks in large part to Tom’s mandatory study sessions designed to make sure none of them embarrassed him by falling behind. He is smart enough to recognize all of the signs of one of Tom’s plots. The only thing he doesn’t know is how nasty the poison they were going to slip him was, and how long it would have taken him to find an antidote to it.

“Let’s not play that game, Cain,” Tom says, his eyes betraying the fury behind his feral smile. “I am sure we have both done things we would prefer Cassandra not know about.”

“I would like for you to leave, Tom.”

“I understand it must be a shock to you to not get what you want for a change, but the answer is still no.”

“Then I’ll throw myself down the stairs. Of course, I’ll tell her it was an accident as you will no doubt demand, but I’m sure she’ll assume you did it no matter what either of us say.”

Turns out Cain may have learned something more from Tom than Tom had bargained for.

“Be careful, Cain, or you might actually get hurt,” Tom warns.

“Have a good evening, Tom,” Cain returns with a friendly grin for the benefit of onlookers. Tom stares him down for a minute before turning to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this turned out to be reallyyy long, but it felt wrong to break it in half so hopefully it's not too overwhelming. Please do take a second to comment to give me the energy and inspiration to write the next chapter! I have some personal issues dominating my thoughts right now so just a warning that there might not be an update next week.


	17. Shake Hands with the Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom loves to push boundaries, and Cassandra hates to be boxed in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me and the Devil by The Fratellis

Cain returns from work Monday to find something that cannot exactly be called a present sitting on his desk. It is a jeweler's loupe that he recognizes right away from the mark emblazoned on it as belonging to his family's jeweler. There is a note next to it that Cain opens despite already knowing what it will say.

_No more jewelry for Cassandra - T.M.R._

Cain knows what this means. The man is dead. Or, as the rumors will more likely say, disappeared, no doubt with a significant chunk of the money and goods that had been in his shop. A way for Tom to prove that even if he cannot hurt Cain directly, he can still hurt the people in Cain's life. A way for Tom to prove that, if he wanted to, he could still get to him at any time, past all of the protection charms on the townhouse and the watchful eyes of the house elves.

He snarls down at the paper and throws the loupe across the room, only looking up when he hears the sound of something shattering. The pieces of an antique vase formerly sitting on the bookshelves across from his desk are all over the ground. A house elf pops in and begins cleaning the mess right away, but Cain just yells out, "Leave it! Leave me."

The house elf crows out an apology and scurries away as Cain sits back in his chair, still looking down at the piece of paper open on his desk.

* * *

Wednesday is unusually cold for the end of February. Cassandra steps out of the fireplace into her manor and is immediately thankful for the warming charm cast over the place and the fact that the skies here are clear. She does not miss the constant pitter patter of rain and snow that seems to hover like a curse over London lately.

She hums the song Cain was singing in the shower that morning as she glides upstairs toward her bedroom, her steps keeping time with the tune. She envies the way his cheerful mood never seems to falter. It is always enough to make her forget the world and its cruelties when they are alone together. But those cruelties are due for an appointment in another two hours, and now it is time to change.

On rounding the top of the staircase, she sees the double doors to her bedroom at the end of the hall are already open. She draws her wand, just in case it is not who she is expecting. She must have forgotten to put the protection spells back up and close the floo network on her way out last night. She chides herself for being in such a rush, for being so careless.

"You are early," she calls from the doorway.

"I'm always early," Tom responds, not even looking up at her. He is lounged across the sofa that sits at the foot of her bed, a book perched on his lap, his robe discarded off to the side, his sleeves rolled up, looking so informal it is as if he actually belongs there.

"You are never this early," she responds, a scowl settling on her face as she sees the book is the one that had been on her nightstand. A step too bold, even for him.

"And you are never absent, Cassandra," he replies, finally looking up at her, an eyebrow raised. "Where were you?"

"I have other appointments, you know," she huffs, finally stepping into the room. To avoid meeting his gaze, she walks up to her vanity on the other wall and starts pulling off her jewelry and dropping it there.

"Your bed isn't slept in, the kitchen is clean for once, and the usual half-finished cup of coffee isn't on your desk downstairs."

"I see you have been snooping around all over my house. Funny that I don't remember authorizing a tour. Perhaps it is time to move again."

"One of my ministry informants mentioned that Rosier called off today," he fires back. His tone is calm, but the air of judgement in it does not escape her.

"If you knew where I was, why did you bother to ask? Just to show you know everything?" she sneers, leaning against the vanity as she glares at him. "As a matter of fact, why bother to come hours before when you knew I was otherwise engaged?"

He sets down the book on the cushion next to him softly before walking over to her. She feels frozen in place by his eyes, shining red and black, zeroing in on her like the rest of him. As he hovers over her, she immediately regrets taking her heels off and leaving them by the fireplace downstairs. At least when she has them on she can almost meet his gaze without looking up. Now, he is nearly a foot taller than her, and if she doesn't crane her neck she is only looking at his shoulders.

"I came looking for this, Cass," he says smoothly, reaching past her to grab the necklace now laying on her vanity table and holding it up between them. "I thought you had learned your lesson about defying me on this particular point."

"I thought that part of our agreement was clearly voided by your teaching me that lesson," she snarls, refusing to be the first one to look away.

"Do you really think I would allow you to go around looking like another man's property?" he hisses. His fingers on her hip spin her around, ignoring her slight resistance. His hands move quickly, cold metal against her neck again before she knows it. "That's better."

He has switched out the necklace for one that is a simple string of diamonds with an emerald pendant hanging off the end, wrapped in a snake that holds it in place. Shame he had to kill that man. He had been so cooperative in making this piece for him.

She catches his eyes in the mirror as her fingers play with the gemstone. Wearing the necklace again had been another attempt at provocation, another test to see if she could break his placid exterior and trigger him to break his word. Giving her a present had not made the list of the ways she expected him to react. Indeed, his mood was far more pleasant than she had expected it to be today. Shouldn't she feel unhappiness, not relief, at the fact that her little scheme had not worked?

When she responds, her voice is fierce, but her expression is not, "Do you really think I will go around looking like your property instead?"

"I will keep giving you jewels - and taking your others away - until you are glittering with reminders of me, Cassandra," he murmers before leaning down to press a kiss to the back of her neck. She suddenly feels much too warm, and his lips feel like an ice cube pressing against her skin, providing much needed respite. "Green suits you better anyway."

Admittedly, that is true. Red washes out her pale skin. Green draws attention to her other, darker features.

"It is bad manners to enter a lady's bedroom," she scolds, resisting the urge to drop her head to give him easier access and entice him to continue.

"It is bad manners for a lady to spend the night in someone else's bedroom."

"Would you consider it bad manners if it had been your bedroom?"

"Would it be bad manners for me to spend the night here?"

"I do not want to fuck you, Tom."

"Admit it, you are thinking about how I would look in that bed right now. How we would look," he whispers, his mouth still hovering over her skin.

"I don't want you in my bed. I don't even want you in my bedroom," she insists. She tries to slip out from his hold, only to be stopped by his arms against the table on either side of her.

"Quell my curiosity about something, Cassandra. Am I the first man who has been in this room?" he teases.

He knows the answer because her sheets smell like _her_ , only her. He had taken the opportunity to do more than just lay around reading and waiting for her, though he won't admit that to her. For Merlin's sake, he has been needing her for hours now. If he was a weaker man, he'd have thrown her down on the bed already.

"Quell my curiosity about something, Tom. How do you manage to do your job and get up to so much trouble when you spend at least an entire day every week bothering me?"

"I didn't seem to _bother_ you last time I was here," he quips.

Her fingers are white from how tightly she is clutching the edge of the wood in front of her. His fingers dance over them, prying them away. His hands push hers up the table until she is at the perfect angle for him to latch on, licking and sucking until she gives in and drops her head.

"If you want that again, all you have to do is say it," he entices.

His hand slips up to pull her hair to the side, using it to maneuver her so that his lips can find the crook of her neck. He bites down until she melts back into him, willingly moving her head in the direction his mouth wishes to travel in. His hand drops to her shoulder, tearing aside the sleeve of her dress so he can mark her shoulder as well. His fingers travel up to her neck, lingering, feeling her breathing speed up and sensing the unsteadiness of her pulse.

"Say it and I will make you feel better than you have ever felt before," he commands.

His other hand finds her hip and pulls her back against him. A little whimper escapes from her lips, drawing a soft chuckle from him in turn. His fingers bunch around the fabric of her skirt, pulling it up.

"Do you listen when I speak?" she snaps, her hand coming up to push his away. She does not like feeling like he is not taking her seriously.

"I can feel your reaction, Cassandra - however, if you insist, I don't have to fuck you. Just imagining my fingers and my mouth running all over you is already more exciting than anything he's ever done, isn't it?"

The thought of Cain finding out about this bursts in to her head, bringing her back to realty. She hisses, "As I've already said, I don't want you."

"Keep lying to yourself, Cass, but you aren't fooling me," he says. He drops away from her, pushing down the urge to ignore her words. It will be better if she chooses this, he reminds himself. She will stay if she chooses this.

She doesn't respond, simply turning back around and heading for the door to her dressing room on the right before calling back, "I have to change. I will meet you in my study. I trust you can find your own way there since you have already made yourself at home here."

* * *

Cassandra arrives to find him already looking over the notes on potions improvements she had left on her desk. She sets down a cup of coffee in front of him before walking over to her side of the desk, sitting down, and taking a sip from her own.

"Thank you," he murmers. She hums back an acknowledgment. "When can the ingredients be delivered?"

She opens her journal to check the notes on her calendar before answering, "Next Friday looks like the earliest if you want all of it to arrive together."

"That's acceptable. You will meet me there?"

"I have employees to take care of such matters."

Tom looks up, hiding his smirk behind the cup of coffee as he takes a sip. She is still wearing the necklace. He says, "I will require you to be there for oversight, in case I find there to be any issues with the quality or quantity of the delivery."

She smiles back at him, faux politeness on display yet again, "As you are making the request, perhaps we could count it as a replacement for our regular appointment this time."

"Perhaps not," Tom says, his own facade of professionalism not faltering.

"Should I have lunch ready next Wednesday then?" she quips, venom lacing through her voice.

"Don't be snarky or I'll arrive in time for breakfast."

"If I was really trying to be snarky I would ask if I should just block off time every day of the week for running errands for you since you seem to think _I_ work for _you_."

"Don't be ridiculous. Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday should suffice."

"Saturday now too? Did I miss an invitation?"

"Bagman is looking to retire. He's selling the casino."

"So?"

"You will be buying it. We have a meeting next week."

"I thought I had made it more than clear that I won't be following your orders, Tom," she says, eyes sharping momentarily before she looks back down at her journal. "As _we_ don't have a meeting for anything without my agreement, I will mark off Wednesday and Friday only."

"I think you will find it a very profitable business, Cass," he replies, finally letting his smirk show. No matter how she tries to hide it, he can sense her interest. In the casino. In him.

"How much of it will be my business and how much of it will be yours?" she asks, still trying to look disinterested.

"I will be taking a cut of profits for setting up the deal, of course, and I will make myself available for consultation as needed - but it will be your business."

"Thank you for the offer, but I have no need for additional income."

"A business like that offers additional benefits, as I am sure you are aware, Cassandra. Status. Leverage. An ear to the ground. A place for meetings. If you try to buy it without me, I will know."

"While all of those things sound like they could potentially be very helpful for your little pureblood supremacy club, they don't have much appeal to me personally," she says. She adds in with a sneer, "Maybe you can get Fawley to purchase it. She's a member, isn't she?"

He realizes she does not seem disgusted at the idea of his _club_. She seems interested. Her fury is only at being excluded from it. He laughs, "Are you jealous, Cassandra?"

She scoffs, "As if. The last thing I would ever do is agree to let you have the ability to order yourself into my bed, Tom. Or to order him out of it, for that matter - especially since he is actually a pureblood."

He does not like anyone questioning his ancestry, even if its her. He dislikes even more the implication that the reason she won't fuck him is because he is not of noble blood. His jaw clenches and he answers, "Funny how you didn't seem to care much about that particular trait when choosing your last partner, Mrs. Alexander _._ "

"Don't speculate about things you know nothing about, Mr. Riddle."

"Same to you. It appears we both have parts of our past we prefer not to share."

It is her turn to smirk. Yes, they do - and his curiosity about hers shows in the twinkling of his eyes, even if he tries to downplay it. She figures he will keep spying until he finds out her secrets, so why shouldn't she take the opportunity to preserve her privacy and learn his as well?

"I'll tell you if you tell me. Provided the information never comes out, of course."

A tingle runs through him at the idea he will finally get an answer to the only thing that still makes him doubt her, that still makes him curse himself for how much he shares with her. That had made him wonder if she would come today, after getting confirmation of what he is really up to. He puts his now empty cup down and stands, "Come."

He know she will demand proof. Proof is the easiest way to answer her question.

She stands too but does not move, "I need assurances first, Tom. I will tell you everything you want to know, but I mean it when I say that you will do the same, and that nothing we say today will ever leave this conversation."

She does not want anybody to pity her, to think her weak, to know what she had done. She takes her wand out and holds it up, offering her other hand out to him. He takes her hand and points his wand at hers. Together, they utter the words for a binding magical contract until a flash of white light emits from their wands and hangs like a string in the air for a second. She goes to pull away her hand, but he does not let it go, using it instead to pull her along with him.

He takes her out to the back of the house, to the large conservatory that was one of the first parts she fixed. They had taken walks here, on occasion, when things had reached a peace between them ever so briefly.

He opens the doors to the outside. The ground is still dusted in melting snow, and a chill sweeps past him. There must be at least one snake out here now, basking in the warmth emitting from the bricks, heated from the magic keeping the space at the perfect temperature for the plants. He glances at her quickly, assessing how likely she is to run away when he does this, before dropping her hand and leaning out the door. Not very, he figures. She looks more bored than anything.

He calls the snakes to come to him. The words come sliding out naturally, all hisses and clicks. The grass sways and before long a stripped green snake comes inside and coils itself up at his feet. He leans down to the ground and speaks to it for a minute, getting acquainted. He stands back up and closes the door before hissing again, the snake rising slowly toward him in response. He bids it to welcome his friend.

It appears his assessment was at least partially wrong, as she has tensed beside him. Tom reaches back out and takes her wrist to keep her from reacting while the snake wraps itself around her leg. He can feel her shaking slightly.

"Relax, she's not poisonous," he says. He pads his thumb over his mark on her wrist slowly until she calms. When her breathing is steady again, he gives her a reprieve by telling the snake it can wander around for a bit.

She watches it slither away, her eyes still fixed on it as she nearly whispers, "That shouldn't be possible. It died out in Europe, except for the Gaunts and Merlin knows where they've gone…"

"Dead, except for me," he declares. She turns to face him now, brow furrowed in confusion. He clarifies, "Through my mother."

"How do you know?"

"Would there be any other explanation, Cassandra? I am sure you have read enough history books to know who the house descended from."

"Your father could -"

"My father was nothing," he snarls.

She immediately understands why he must have that reaction. So he does know, then. He'd just never wanted anyone else to. It was understandable. Even if he didn't have any control over it, even if he wished it was different with all of his heart, in the circles they ran in something like that was enough to ruin a person. As the last of that infamous branch, he had a legacy to live up to.

"The last heir of Slytherin," she mumbles, hoping saying the title out loud will cheer him. It does. His eyes light up. Her heart jumps. To distract herself, her eyes drift down to the mark on the wrist he is still holding. "Seems like I should have figured that one out myself, doesn't it? I just assumed you simply had a very strong attachment to your Hogwarts house."

"That I do," he responds. She can see him still analyzing her reaction out of the corner of her eye, and remains carefully neutral.

"Well now it makes sense why they all worship you," she says, still unable to remove her eyes from the mark.

Now she understands why Cain hates it so much. It is not only that Tom was the one to force it on her - not that she's confirmed as much to him, but she is sure he knows. She had explained away her own hatred for it by seeing it as their mark, merely a sign of adopted membership in their little group. But this truth brings the harsh reality crashing back onto her. It is not their mark after all. It is _his_ mark, a way of calling out _mine_ for all to see. Though, in practical terms, it is really only for her and Tom to see, since she always keeps it hidden when anybody else is around.

He sees the ticking in her head and drops her hand before saying, "Now I believe it is your turn, Cassandra."

She sinks down to sit in the grass, her legs folded out to the side. He follows her lead, sitting down across from her. The snake slithers up his leg and then, not satisfied, over to hers, apparently enjoying the warmth. He hisses at it not to move too much in case it frightens her again. She is picking at the grass and looking at it as she talks, sounding more as if she is talking to herself than to him.

"I met him when I was fifteen. So young, so ridiculous. All I wanted was someone who truly cared about me. Not someone who wanted me, not someone who was infatuated with me, and definitely not someone who needed a pretty pureblood trophy wife - which was all my parents saw me as, really."

"We were all summering in the Azores because it was the only decent place to go in Europe without constantly worrying about being bombed. I had this old friend, Luc Dumont, who had moved to America before the war started, and I was so thrilled that he was going to be joining us. He had never really believed in the whole pureblood thing and thought it would be funny to bring along one of his own friends from school, who was a mudblood. Nikola Alexander. Of course, that turned out badly almost immediately, but I tried to be polite enough by directing him to another place to stay and we started talking."

"He was just so _different_ from everyone I knew. Everyone who had grown up like me. I convinced myself he wasn't like other mudbloods. He didn't come from just any lowly muggle family. He was nice, and his presents were nice, and he was someone who cared about me, not about my name or my family. About me. How I felt, what I wanted. Nobody in my life had ever asked me what I wanted before. It was the first time I really felt like someone treated me like a real, live person capable of independent thought."

"I thought it couldn't hurt, one summer. And it didn't, not at first. I went back to Beauxbatons and forgot about him, just like that. Simple enough, since it was just a game. I knew there couldn't be any future there, not really. Then came a letter telling me he was coming back to his family's estate in England and inviting me to visit over winter break. At Beauxbatons, all the students had to leave for the break, and I desperately did not want to go back home. Again, I thought it couldn't hurt, so I decided to go."

"It was after that the trouble started. A mublood girl at school had seen us together at the train station. His family was prominent so his picture was in the muggle press fairly often, and she had recognized him. She started spreading it around. All the purebloods hated me just for sleeping with someone they thought inferior and everyone else hated me for doing so after I'd made fun of them for their blood status for years. The entire affair culminated in a duel between myself and the daughter of the French Minister for Magic, who of course insisted I not be allowed to continue at Beauxbatons after that. It didn't really matter to me anyway because I knew I could pass the exams - and because I knew if I stayed I would soon start showing."

"Sixteen and pregnant with only one person to go back to, so I did. To my surprise, he was happy. He wanted to be with me. He even told me I could choose what I wanted to do with it - whether to keep it or not - and it wouldn't change his mind either way. It was a way out. Finally. All the pain and hurt would end. My parents. My classmates. I would never have to see them again. It was a new life, in a beautiful manor with all the money in the world and license to spend it on whatever I wanted, with someone who cared about _me_ and what _I_ thought and how _I_ felt. I had always wanted that so badly."

"Sure, it wasn't with the type of person I had imagined it with. But who cared at that point? I finally had a chance at freedom, or at least as close to freedom as I ever thought I would get. I certainly wasn't going to do better. Hard to keep those pureblood ideals when you're faced with sleeping in a dingy flat and working some shit job at a pub or living in palaces and never having to lift a finger. So I let the ideals go. For the first time in my life, I let myself be happy. I let myself fall in love. I let myself look forward to a future."

"I lost the child. To be accurate, my parents sent me a wedding present in the form of men to force a little potion down my throat and try to bring me back to them. Then I lost him. By which I mean it turned out he wasn't the person I thought he was. At first I thought it was just temporary but then… he made me do things I didn't want to do. I wasn't free. I was just locked in a bigger cage."

"And do you know what I learned from all that? There's only two things muggles and those who sympathize with them do to magical things, and that is use them and destroy them. That mudblood wanker destroyed me. I couldn't stand to even feel magic flowing through my veins for years. I was afraid every time I lifted a wand. Four years in, I finally had enough."

Hate burns though her voice. Not the disconnected, embedded prejudice of the aristocratic wizards who have never actually interacted with muggle society. Something deeper, harder, like his own feelings. Hate forged through anger, tempered by time and the harsh realities of the world into a hunger for change.

_This_. This is what the others are missing. Not simple true, puritanical belief. Purpose. This is what he had sensed in her that first meeting.

He was not wrong to trust her, he concludes. He was wrong not to trust her enough.

She pauses, letting the minutes pass between them. He does not speak, because he can sense that she's not ready for that yet. She waits for the follow up questions, for him to pry into the details she does not want to share as he always does, and nearly sighs in relief when they do not come. Finally, she looks up and locks eyes with him. The hatred has passed from her voice, replaced with something only a touch softer.

"Take note that I do not appreciate being put in a cage. If you think this mark or our deal means I am going to submit to everything you say and want for the rest of time, you will be sorely disappointed. There are limits, and you continue to get dangerously close to them."

"I don't want to put you in a cage. I went to set you free of your own," he hisses, leaning toward her. "You locked yourself away and stopped living life because you were afraid. Afraid of what other people think. Afraid of who you are. Afraid of what you want."

She laughs before saying, "Yes, I am. I am sure with other people you can usually play on their fears to set yourself up as some type of savior figure. The problem is I have enough common sense and prior experience to be afraid of you too."

"But you're not. Even though you keep trying to tell yourself you should be," he says. "If you were afraid of me, why would we be here?"

"Because you have made it abundantly clear what you intend to do to Rosier if I defy you," she fires back.

"You are not afraid. You know he is. You know you don't want to hurt him again. That's different than being afraid of me, isn't it?" he replies, leaning in closer to her. "We wouldn't be sitting here like this if you were afraid of me, would we? You can't reach your wand quickly, there's a snake under my control which you only know isn't poisonous because I told you so laying on you, and I am close enough to do this."

He reaches out, taking her chin and pulling her face up. His lips land on hers for a few seconds, his tongue flicking out to taste them. She's frozen, like she was when the snake first wrapped itself around her. He pulls away, but not nearly far enough.

" _You_ have nothing to fear from me. _With_ me, you could do anything," he hisses.

"I have seen you interacting with your followers and that is not a two-way relationship," she argues. She tries to move away but his hand is on her wrist again in a flash to prevent her from doing so. She continues, a scowl on her face, "It isn't with you if you have the power to give orders and I have an obligation to follow them."

He will need to try more subtle ways of separating them, he decides. Clearly demanding blind obedience is only pushing her away. Asking her to give Cain up is only pushing her further into his arms. No matter how much he dislikes the situation, it is a temporary impediment. Her stubbornness will be a constant one.

"You are different, little harpy," he says, tone dripping with a gentleness that contrasts sharply with his tight hold on her arm. "I apologize for not factoring that in before. I will never make you do something you do not want to do, Cassandra."

"For whatever you have planned with your little pureblood supremacy group?"

"Anything," he whispers back, and he cannot help but fall into her again.

His lips are on hers again and he wants to taste every part of her. He has been waiting so long and every word she has said has only fueled the fire burning inside of him. He wants to set her skin on fire, to inhale her warmth to keep it growing.

She is like him. He knew it. They will be gods together. He will take his pleasure from her and give it back to her in equal measure, making her writhe underneath him while everybody else bows to them. He will have her, _all_ of her, to himself, and once he does they will have _everything_.

She pushes away, nearly falling back on to the grass before she catches herself with a hand. It is one thing when he is behind her, holding her in place and pushing his affections on to her. It is another when they are face to face. It is another when she has the option to move away and does not. Who is she to think she is immune from repeating her mistakes, as all humans do?

"Then what is this?" she hisses.

"Something you want too," he answers, eyes still locked with hers. He can just imagine pushing her down on to the grass and taking her right here. "Don't worry, I won't keep you from him if you want that too, so you can drop your false objections."

"As I have said before, I don't _want_ to."

"Your lies do not convince me. There is something between us, Cassandra. If your reactions are not a sign that you want me, then what are they?"

She bites her lip and looks away. Tom suddenly understands.

It's not want, it's _need_. Primal, reflexive, impulsive need. He can see the way she is holding onto the grass, the way she is trying so desperately to resist, and wonders what it will take to get her to give in to it. He does not know whether he has won or he has lost, because he needs her too - but he also wants her, and he wants her to want him. He needs her to want him.

He kisses her again and she losses her grip, tumbling onto the ground with him over her. She kisses back, and eventually both of their necks are covered in bruises and teeth marks and both of their mouths are raw. He pulls the straps of her top aside and pushes it down, lips searching for new territory to explore.

His hand pushes beneath her skirt and she gasps when he touches her. He feels her try to push away. His teeth nick painfully at her breast to punish her and he hisses, "Stop trying to run away from me. Stop trying to pretend you want to, Cass."

"I do not want you," she growls back.

"Tell me to stop and I will," he answers, lifting his lips and locking his eyes on hers. A few seconds of silence later, her eyes flutter closed as his fingers push the fabric separating them from her skin away. He catches the start of a whimper escaping her lips as his fingers plunge into her before she bites her lip to stop it. He moves slowly, controlling how much he's giving her. "Look at me, Cassandra."

She obeys but mumbles again, "I don't want you."

He kisses her, teeth pulling at her lip until she whimpers in pain, "You can tell yourself that, my little harpy, but it doesn't change what you are letting me do."

"I am not letting you do anything. You trapped me," she argues before shuddering as he curls his fingers.

"Does thinking that make it easier for you to justify the fact that this is happening?" he teases. "Look at your body. How desperately you must be begging your mind not to enjoy this."

"I don't want you," she repeats. "You are only here because…"

He won't let her ruin this by mentioning that ridiculous boy. He won't let her act like he actually means anything to her, other than a famous name and a fortune to steal.

"He has never made you feel like this, has he?" he hisses. The shame that flashes over her face is instantaneous - and strong enough that it only increases Tom's hatred. He raises his lips to whisper in her ear, "You are going to orgasm for me, no matter how much you try to stop yourself from wanting me. In fact, I think I will keep playing with you until you beg me for it."

He pushes deeper into her, hard, making her shiver. His lips go back to her breasts and he sucks and bites enough to leave marks all over them. His thumb finds a rhythm against her most sensitive spot that makes her try to push forward against him hard enough to hurt.

She is so close and she hates herself for it, but he is hitting spots she never knew existed and her entire body feels like electricity is running through it. He keeps the level of pressure just below what would be enough to overload her, fraying her nerves and her mind. All she can feel is him, all she can smell is him, all she can think about is him, like a cloud surrounding her in its suffocating mist.

He stops just when she is about to lose control, just when she thinks she cannot take anymore, and she whimpers and whispers, "Please."

She can feel his stare on her face, burning her skin red. His cold fingers slap her breast before returning to caress and comfort it. She cries out, a sound that is nearly a sob. He does it again. He hovers his face over hers again and she leans up to kiss him, desperately hoping a different kind of plea will work.

"Look at me. Say my name," he demands.

"Please, Tom," she repeats after wrenching her eyes open.

Normally, he would make her ask again, but he is running out of patience. His fingers plunge back into her and he coaxes it from her, making her body quiver against him. When she has come down, he pulls his fingers from her and licks her pleasure from them. Merlin, she tastes so good. She looks so good squirming underneath him. He almost wants to keep her there all day, pushing her over the edge again and again as she calls out his name like that.

Forget all day. That is too short for him. For the rest of time seems more appropriate. Just a few not-so-simple spells and he could keep her here, upstairs in her bedroom, waiting for his visits. _His_ , only his, so that only he has the pleasure of laying eyes on her like this, of making her feel like this, of watching her surrender like this.

She is too powerful for that, he reminds himself. She will not give in to the imperius. She will find a way to break his bonds. She will run if he tries to lock her body away. After trying to kill him first, of course. It is her mind that he needs to capture instead, and he can practically feel it filled with thoughts of him already.

He kisses her, pressing against her, before teasing, "Do you want me yet?"

She can feel his cock right there, separated by only a thin layer of fabric. She has never felt so ravenous for anything before, but want is the wrong word for this. Does a starving man want to eat the insects that crawl on the ground beneath him? Does a dehydrated man want to swallow the salt water that surrounds him?

This is sex, not survival, she reminds herself. Though, really, it is both. He is not something she thinks she can survive.

He pushes his hips slightly and she bites her lip. He can tell she is holding back another whimper. She reaches for his pants but he pulls her hands back up and over her head.

"You know what you have to say," he commands. Her head twists, her teeth bared as she seeks to bite his arm to force him to let go. Too far. He chuckles, "Use your words, Cass. Say it or tell me to stop."

"Changing your mind about not telling me what to do so soon?"

"I never said I wouldn't tell you what to do, I just said I wouldn't _make_ you do it. I am presenting you with a choice, Cassandra. Refuse and we can stop. Give in and I will fuck you better than you ever thought possible. I want it to be very clear you asked for this."

"Fuck me. Is that good enough?" she snaps. Her hips come up to push against him, eliciting a growl to rip from his chest. She tries to move her hands again but he pushes them back down.

"Not until you tell me you want me," he orders.

"I don't," she says, glaring up at him.

He cocks an eyebrow at her, giving her a second to change her mind. The silence is filled with only their ragged breaths, and his temper flares again. He kisses her once more before snarling, "I was being generous when I let you cum without saying it. Do not expect such a kindness again, little harpy."

He stands. His jaw twitches as he fixes his robes. She stands too and fixes her dress in silence, only speaking up when he starts to walk away and she reaches a hand out to his arm to pull him back.

"You won't -"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because that would hurt him. As such, I would consider it a violation of our deal," she says. He just hums in response before pulling his arm away and starting to walk back toward the sitting room again. She takes it as a sign of assent and follows. "You never told me what this group of yours is called."

"That's members-only information," he says curtly.

"And if I wanted to be a member, Tom?"

"You would have to play by my rules, Cassandra."

"But not… I wouldn't have to obey you?"

"Not unless you wish to."

"And him?"

"As you said, we have a deal. None of my rules will relate to your relationship with him, or ours. You can keep your little pureblood pet."

"So, the next meeting…"

"Mulciber is throwing a party for Carrow's birthday this weekend. Tell Rosier his attendance is expected and to invite you. Or you can come as my date, if you prefer."

"I don't prefer, but thank you for the offer, Tom," she says with a polite smile as they stop in front of the fireplace.

He nods and turns his gaze to her arm, "There is one rule for now, Cass. No more disillusionment charms. When you are in my world, that mark on your arm is not hidden away."

"You seem to already be breaking your promise about not interfering with my relationships, Tom," she grumbles. He just smirks.

"This is not about that. It is about your protection. Men like Dolohov are an unfortunate necessity in this world."

He has many rivals, and so does she. He cannot count the number of his followers who are likely envious of the time she has with him and the way they speak to each other and the way he touches her. The mark is a reminder to everyone of her place and theirs. A reminder that she is _his_ , and any injury that comes to her will be returned tenfold - by both of them. The fact that Cain will also have to see that reminder is something of an added bonus.

"I can protect myself," she snaps.

"I know, but it is helpful not to need to, isn't it?"

"As you wish," she says with a smile that screams defiance. "Have a good evening, Tom. I look forward to seeing everyone this weekend."

He smirks as he turns away, "I look forward to seeing you, Cass. Welcome to the Knights of Walpurgis."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long chapter! Looks like I just can't help it with this story. Been trying to slip in Cass' backstory for a few chapters now, hopefully it wasn't too much of an infodump. 
> 
> Please do take a second to comment to give me the energy and inspiration to write the next chapter! As always, I love to hear any feedback or reactions you have at all :)


	18. The Course of True Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To Tom, everything seems to be coming together. To Cain, it all just seems to be falling apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "When I wake up I'm afraid, somebody else might take my place" - Afraid by The Neighborhood

Cain is suspicious the second Cassandra mentions wanting to go to the party. For one thing, it isn't entirely a party. He knows everyone else invited is already part of their little organization, meaning it will be more of a chance for them to synchronize on their plots and obtain new orders from Tom than a social occasion.

Of course, there will be social aspects to it too. Tom likes to have his followers get to know each other - likes them to feel kinship with each other as well as loyalty to him, to ensure they won't have anyone to turn to if they leave.

Still, it is not a place for her and Cain never wants it to be.

Then he asks her how she heard about it, pretending it is just a casual inquiry, and she says Tom mentioned it. It is too late for his worries, it appears.

He wants to wring Tom's neck. He'd asked for one thing. One fucking thing. Well, he might not have asked for it _per se_ , but he knows Tom knows what he was trying to get at during their conversation at the new year's party. After a decade of service and doing all sorts of things for him, not involving her was the least Tom could have given him.

He only agrees to attend with her because he knows not going isn't really a choice.

* * *

The festivities are scheduled to start early, not that Cassandra really cares. Being fashionably late is one of her signature moves, as she is sure Tom recognizes already. The fact that he doesn't seem to appreciate it only makes her appreciate it more - and an early start just means more time for a late arrival.

Cain, to her great enjoyment, is in no rush either. When they finally pick themselves up off the floor of the breakfast room, sticky with the jam that was supposed to be part of their breakfast as well as various other substances, the party has technically already started. Thus, they arrive at the door of Mulciber's manor an hour late. The house elf attempts to walk them in, but Cain says he knows the way and shrugs him off.

Several corridors and two turns later, they reach the drawing room, its double doors already held open. Most people are standing in groups as they talk, as much of the furniture has been moved out of the way to accommodate everyone. A few ladies sit on armchairs pushed against the walls here and there. Through them all, at the back of the room, they can just barely see Tom lounging alone on a couch, observing the crowd.

Cassandra does not miss the way people subtly step aside for them. Her hand rests on Cain's arm, and she can tell he is looking for someone. By the time he spots Lestrange, it is too late. Tom has locked his eyes on them, and it is clear he is waiting. Cain's steps falter for only a second before he leads them the rest of the way down the room.

"Good afternoon, Tom," Cain says, expression and tone just as friendly as ever. He knows better than to be the one to start a pissing contest.

Tom smiles tightly at him before his eyes drift over to her, "Late again, Cass."

She forces herself to return the smile and be polite, "My apologies. I lost track of time."

He scans her, smile slipping on spotting the red petticoat peaking out below her black dress when she shifts under his gaze. For a second, she thinks he might try to order her to strip it off right here in front of everyone. Luckily, his eyes move up to meet hers again.

"I am sure Cain will do a better job of reminding you next time," he says, tone jovial.

"Of course," Cain chimes in, hoping to draw his attention away. Tom is looking at her like she is on the dinner menu, and he feels a reminder is needed that she is his girlfriend rather than a piece of meat. " _Our_ apologies."

Tom's jaw twitches before he smiles again, "No need to apologize, old friend. After all, it's a celebration. We should all be enjoying ourselves rather than focusing on the schedule, yes?"

"Yes," Cassandra rushes to say, tired of him making Cain the butt of the joke. "Now, if you'll excuse us, I would like to say hello to a few…"  
"Stay, little harpy. We have matters to attend to before the party starts," Tom orders. His voice is imperious and much louder than it needs to be.

For Merlin's sake, the diminutive is already bad enough. Now he's calling her by a pet name in public? As if there are not enough whispers about their relationship already. Now he is calling her that and beckoning her to join him on his throne. She glances back to tell Cain she will find him again later, and just that quick look reveals that the crowd behind them is a sea of contempt and confusion. What the fuck has she gotten herself into?

She takes a seat, careful to put space between them. She should know better than that by now. Tom chides, "I would like not to have to yell our conversation to you, Cassandra."

She sees him reaching out for her arm and reluctantly scoots toward him before he can force the matter. He raises an eyebrow and she inches closer again, until his arm snakes around her shoulders. She tries to jolt back but he keeps hold of her, a disapproving sound reverberating in her ear.

His fingers skim her skin as he tilts his head down to whisper, "Behave, Cass. You want to make a good impression on the group today, don't you?"

"I am certain this is making _an_ impression. As to whether it's good, their faces seem to say otherwise."

"They are just curious. Let them have their entertainment."

She laughs lightly, "Entertainment? If that's what I am here for, then I think perhaps I made a mistake agreeing to be here in the first place."

"The entertainment is their pandering for my attention. I am sure they are all just whispering about how it is you got it so they can copy your techniques."

Her tone sours, "You mean they are whispering about what they think my talents in the bedroom must be to have you so entranced."

"Do you really think they think I am so stupid? Your little pet might swoon at the sight of you, but more is needed to hold my attention, and they know it," he says. He pulls her in closer for a moment, lips brushing the back of her ear as he whispers, "Though I would still like to see those talents, Cassandra."

She is sure everybody in the room must notice the warmth that has washed over her at his statement. Even if they haven't, he surely has, what with his cold fingers still drifting back and forth along her collarbone. She draws away as far as he will allow and crosses her legs at the knees, ignoring the growing tension in her body. She hates how he can always get to her so fast, how he can say one thing that makes her just completely _unravel_ no matter what they are arguing about and how stoic she is trying to be.

"You said we had business to take care of. If we don't, I would like to go back to my date."

"He can come join us if you'd like, but you will stay by my side until you are dismissed, Cassandra. It is your place here, now that you have asked for one, and it is important for the rest of them to know that."

"The rest of them are already jealous enough, Tom. One would think you would be wise enough not to build on their resentment - unless you are aiming for me to be the victim of it."

"They will come to accept the way things are. He will."

"You said you wouldn't…"

"Do you really think he's that oblivious, Cass? A blind man could sense the way you react to me. Anyway, this is not about that. This is about introducing you to the group. Making sure they know how much I value you."

"Do you really think I am that naive? Everything is about that in one way or another with you, Tom, so I feel I am the one who needs to remind _you_ to behave. Remember that you cannot make me stay here."

Tom ignores her, turning back to the crowd as another man walks toward them. She recognizes him vaguely but cannot point to how - like so many others here, if she is being honest. Tom moves to get up, taking her with him. At least he is not touching her anymore, she thinks. She follows Tom as he walks to a side door at the very back of the room, noticing the other man is always careful to keep a steady pace distinctly behind them both. They arrive in a smaller sitting room, only two sofas facing each other in the rather narrow space.

Tom sits on the one facing the door. The look he gives her is enough to convince her not to try to take the other one. She settles next to him. Apparently satisfied with her behavior, he decides not to hold her hostage this time.

"Macnair. I believe you have met Ms. Malecrit before," Tom introduces once the other man settles into the second sofa.

"Aye, I remember her. The one with the sharp tongue," Macnair says with a smirk toward her. It is his accent that triggers her memory. The doorman at the casino.

"Macnair will be obtaining the books for our review. As well as letting us know the items that are not on them," Tom explains to her. "Perhaps you can provide a general overview?"

"Thing seem good, overall. Traffic is up the last few months. The ministry gave generous bonuses and raises this year. Many are still celebrating with extra visits. There's some contract disputes with the liquor distributors but I'm sure you can take care of that. There have been issues collecting with a few of the girls in the other business lately, but they'll make up for it after the post-holiday lull like they always do."

"The other business?" she inquires. She almost hopes it is not what it sounds like, but knows it should come as no surprise. As Tom had said, there are bad men in this world.

"Escorts," Tom answers curtly.

She laughs in disbelief, "How convenient that you left out the fact I would be running a brothel in our last conversation about this, Tom. _That_ is a business too immoral even for me."

Tom rolls his eyes at her, "Don't oversell it. It's just a convenient place for them to find clients, that's all. The deed is done elsewhere, and the referral fees are more than generous."

"I am not going to be the one whoring out poor runaways," she says sharply.

"They're nice girls, really," Macnair speaks up. It is her turn to roll her eyes. Even if they were _nice_ _girls_ , doing something like that quickly takes anything nice out of you.

"Really, Cassandra, I have never know you to be a prude," Tom teases. "The majority are divorcees trying to support themselves and married woman engaging for some fun and income on the side. It's harmless for all involved."

"It seems like you know this other business quite well, Tom," she scoffs. "Perhaps you can tell me more about the wares. Introduce me to some of these girls having trouble settling their bill."

Macnair is the one to laugh now, "He'd never. Tom has no trouble warming his bed. Hell, he's probably fucked almost every pure…"

"Macnair," Tom scolds. Too late. Cassandra is already snickering and raising an eyebrow at him. He can see a follow-up comment forming in her mind. "Hold that sharp tongue of yours or I will decide to occupy it in another way, Cass."

Macnair's face transforms into a knowing smirk, which makes her blush and look away. She can only assume he saw them in the hallway, and what he had assumed based on their interaction.

"Talk to the girls. Tell them things will be changing soon, and they should be prepared to settle their dues," Tom instructs. "Bagman still insists on waiting until Thursday to release the books?"

"Yes."

"Get me anything you can as soon as possible. You have the tallies of the money paid in and out for the last month and the list of frequent patrons as we discussed previously?"

"Yes, my lord. I left them with the house elves to hold until your departure."

"Thank you, Macnair. Do let me know if Bagman mentions anything about our meeting."

The man stands, bowing his head slightly before turning to leave. She watches him depart, analyzing him as he goes. He does not look like a man who enjoys paperwork. His knuckles are rough and his face marked with scars. She can guess at what his additional duties for the casino must be, but she is surprised to find she does not dislike him as much as she does most hired wands.

"Now that our business is done, am I dismissed as well?" she asks after a few seconds of Tom's silence. She does not like being here alone with him - or, rather, she does not like what people will think about it.

"Did you wear this to make me angry?" Tom hisses, tugging at the red petticoat peaking out below her skirt.

"I don't think about you when I get dressed," she fires back.

"You don't?" he asks, looking directly at her again, eyes bright and the ghost of a chuckle hiding behind his upturned lips. He has caught her in a lie and they both know it.

"Why do you care what I wear?"

"You know why. It sends a message. One that I do not agree with."

"My feelings are not something you can decide don't exist simply because you don't agree with them."

"No, they don't exist because they aren't real. When you are with him, _you_ aren't even really there. Not the real you. It's all just pretend, isn't it?"

"If it's all just pretend, why do you resent it so much?" she teases. When he glares, she smiles. "If we have no further business, I would like to return to my date."

Tom leans back and looks over her again before saying, "Go. Socialize. But know this, Cassandra. Such displays will have consequences. The more you try to show the world you are his, the more I will show the world you aren't."

* * *

The seating plan places Tom next to her at the afternoon tea. What a coincidence, she thinks sarcastically as she sees the name-cards. Cain sits down across from her. Tom smirks as he takes the seat to her right. And, of course, she is at the very end of the table, leaving her with no alternative conversation partner on her left.

After Cain is pulled away to attend to something, she lapses into silence, focusing on her teacup and observing the conversation between Tom and Nott, sitting across from him, rather than contributing to it. She is tired already. As soon as she'd returned back to the drawing room, there had seemed to be an endless parade of people wanting to introduce themselves to her. She had barely found Cain when the barrage had begun. Even more exhausting, she knew none of them were really interested in her. They were only interested in getting closer to Tom through her, a fate she would not wish on anybody despite their efforts.

She nearly gasps when she feels his hand on her leg. Or more accurately, slipping between her legs. He pushes her knees apart and slides it up, and she is too shocked to stop him in time. She tries to shut them again, but he simply pulls them open more forcefully this time.

She smiles over at him to hide her glare as she hisses, "What are you doing?"

"Drinking my champagne, Cass," he responds with a smirk. "What's wrong, do you not like yours? Do you want me to have someone get you something else?"

"No," she snaps. Definitely not, because she is sure he means he will actually order someone to bring her something. He will make sure they bring it to her physically, not using magic, and they will definitely notice that his hand has slipped under the tablecloth.

He goes back to his conversation with Nott as if nothing is amiss. Meanwhile, she lifts her glass and tries to act normal, nods along to their conversation as if she can register anything they are saying. Meanwhile, his fingers are sliding back and forth along her inner thigh, advancing further and further up every time.

"What do you think, Cassandra?" Tom asks.

She grasps for the last thing she heard. It was something about the weather she thinks? Well, when all else fails… she looks over at Nott and says, "I completely agree with Tom."

He squeezes her leg and she jumps. Is that a reward? Merlin, what had she just agreed to? She looks back up from her champagne glass and sees Nott staring at her. No, not at her. At the space between she and Tom - at the lack of space between them - and at Tom's arm. He raises an eyebrow at her and looks like he is about to laugh. So he definitely knows then.

"I do like when you agree with me, Cassandra," Tom says smugly before turning back to Nott. "So we'll have the campaign donations go to Tuft's re-election. Make an appointment with her son on Monday."

They continue talking. She takes his praise to mean he won't embarrass her with another question again, especially because at this point his hand is far enough up that every time he moves his fingers, his knuckles just happen to graze her there. Or maybe the reason he doesn't embarrass her with another question is because he too had noticed Nott noticing and that was enough of a consequence for him.

Cain finally comes back, and she thinks maybe Tom will not be bold enough to continue now. She is wrong, because the second he sees him, he presses his fingers very firmly against her lace underwear.

"Are you feeling, alright, Cass?" Cain asks as he is about to sit down. "You look a little pale."

"I'm fine, Cain. Thank you for asking," she responds with the most confident smile she can muster. She catches Nott's eyes again and hopes he knows better than to tell.

"More than fine, I hope, Cass," Tom jumps in, a wolf's grin on his face. He is about two centimeters away from taking this too far, and she has a feeling he is very much enjoying staying on that line. He is very much enjoying keeping her on that line. "After all, it's such a lovely day with such lovely company."

"Just a little stuffy in here. Cain, maybe we can take a stroll…" The breath is knocked out of her as Tom hits just the right spot. She isn't sure she can stand right now, and she suddenly has no desire to. She quickly adds, "Later."

"You are enjoying yourself, aren't you, Cass?" Tom asks, so thinly veiled that this time Nott starts laughing in the middle of a sip of his firewhisky. When Cain looks over at him, he quickly disguises it as a cough.

"Of course, Tom," she answers calmly. Luckily, Avery calls something across the table about arranging a quidditch game after dinner and Cain and Nott are quickly engaged in that topic instead.

Tom leans toward her, teasing, "Ready to finish our conversation from Wednesday yet?"

"I don't want you," she hisses, relying on their closeness and everyone else's loudness to keep from being overheard.

"It must be so difficult to keep telling yourself that," Tom whispers back, leaning in even closer to her. "Especially when you already know how much you will crave me being inside of you after this."

He withdraws his hand and turns away. Her jaw almost falls open. How the fuck dare he. She almost wants to pull him back and demand that he finish the job, but she won't give him that satisfaction.

Tom jumps into the others' conversation, joking, "As everyone knows I don't play, I'll volunteer for the role of medic."

* * *

Two can play his game, she decides. After all, the game she is stuck watching right now is _boring_. She can't even really see much from the ground, and since Avery is apparently not the best seeker it seems she'll have to crane her neck all afternoon. She notices one person who definitely has never been called boring is missing from the field, though, meaning she has no obligation to stay here and continue watching.

"Want to pretend you're injured?" she whispers into Cain's ear while hugging him to celebrate his latest goal. He chuckles and then winks as he takes off again, which she takes as a yes.

Sure enough, a few minutes later he gets hit by a bludger in the arm and starts screaming bloody murder. The drama is almost too much for her to even pretend to believe, but she quickly rushes over to him and plays the role of the good girlfriend, letting him lean against her. She insists they go back inside as he just _must_ take a break.

He leads her to the lounge and starts kissing her, pulling her toward the couch with him. She straddles his hips, taking off his shirt.

"I said pretend you are injured, Cain," she chides, looking at a purple bruise already forming on his arm.

"Doesn't hurt," he murmers, very focused on other things.

"I don't think you'd feel it if a troll hit you right now," she jokes, taping her wand against his arm as she mutters a healing spell. His hands finish unbuttoning his pants below the pouffy skirt of her dress and then quickly slide up her legs.

"Fuck, you're _wet_ , Cass," he nearly groans. "I'm surprised you could wait this long to pull me away if you really want me that badly."

"I do want you that badly. _Unbelievably_ badly," she returns, kissing him as he pulls her down and slips inside of her. It barely takes that to drive her over the edge, and she is sure this is the quickest she has ever orgasmed.

He waits until she has come down before taking her hips in his hands and leading her slowly up and down, teasing her. When she tries to speed things up, he holds her down until she starts allowing him to lead again.

"Please, I want to…" she whimpers. She is so close and she doesn't want to wait, not like before. Not with him.

"Enjoy it, Cass," he whispers.

He takes her face in his hands and they stare into each other's eyes, sharing soft kisses in tandem with the movement of her hips. Her breath slows and her eyes can barely stay open. Every movement feels like a small shock running through her body. This is a whole different kind of good. It is gentle and careful and serene - everything Tom is not.

"I love you, Cass," he whispers. Another orgasm rolls through her and he is just about to wrap this up when the door slams open.

"Mulciber said somebody was injured," Tom declares. He is looking between them and she can see the tick in his jaw even from here. "I see he was incorrect. I would say sorry for interrupting but I don't think I am the one acting inappropriately here. Clean yourselves up and go back outside."

The door slams behind him again and she actually erupts in laughter. Cain is too afraid to. Tom had wanted to stab him after just reading a letter about this situation. He cannot imagine what Tom wants to do to him now.

She stumbles up while saying, "Sorry. My fault for being impulsive. We'll pick this up again later, and I promise I'll more than make up for it."

He kisses her again, "Not your fault, but don't expect to get any sleep tonight."

Cain walks out of the door first. Tom is still standing across from it, glaring. When she walks out next and tries to pass him, he stops her.

"Cass," he says sternly. She turns. "You forgot to fix your lipstick."

She rolls her eyes but knows he has a point. She turns to the mirror on the wall next to him and does as he says. Tom only has to shoot one look to Cain to get him to leave.

"Give me your gloves," he orders, holding his hand out.

"You only said no more disillusionment charms," she protests. She had pulled them from her pocket and put them on as soon as everyone had headed outside. Most of the ladies had - it was just common fashion and etiquette. Being without them would surely go noticed.

"No, I said when you are with me, it's not hidden. Is that not the purpose of those gloves?" he corrects.

He is right. She had chosen slightly longer ones to make sure it was covered. She huffs but pulls them off, exposing her wrists.

"You wanted to be a part of this, Cass. My game, my rules. Though I think the rule that you shouldn't sneak off to fuck in somebody else's house during a party is one generally observed by polite society everywhere."

"Would it be a rule if I had snuck off to fuck you instead?" she quips.

"Let's go catch up with your boyfriend before he happens to get hit by another bludger."

* * *

"What are Dolohov and Nott snickering about?" Cain asks after flying up to Lestrange. He had tagged back into the game, preferring being in the sky above Tom to standing right next to him. They'd been playing for another thirty minutes and he'd noticed the other pair always laughing together whenever he made a goal.

Lestrange tries to wave it off, "Nothing. You know how Nott is."

"If you don't tell me, I'm just going to ask him."

"Don't do that."

They separate as the quaffle is tossed up again. Another play, another goal by Cain. Another snicker from the other team. He prods Lestrange again as they wait for the other team's keeper to throw out the ball, "Why not?"

"You'll start a fight once he tells you."

"What is he saying?"

"Don't ruin the party, Cain."

"Not me ruining the party, is it?" he points out before shooting off to chase Dolohov down as he catches the quaffle. He retakes it from him and throws it over to Mulciber.

Lestrange joins him to flank Mulciber from behind as they approach the goalposts, "It's Nott. He says things. Let it go."

"Will you tell me if I say I won't try to curse him for it this time?"

"If you just _say_ that, no."

"Fine. I won't curse him for it this time."

Mulciber throws the ball and misses. They stop by the goalposts, waiting for Yaxley to go and retrieve it. Lestrange mumbles, "He was just talking about Cassandra."

"What about Cassandra?"

"That it looked like she was his date, not yours."

"That's not what he was saying. He wouldn't wait until I scored a goal to say that."

"You can score quidditch goals but you aren't the one scoring with your own girlfriend," Lestrange sighs out, exasperated with his incessant questioning almost as much as he is exasperated with his incessant obsession with her.

The ball is thrown out and they race off again, but then the whistle sounds. Finally, Avery has caught the snitch. It doesn't matter for his team anyway - Cain's already racked up enough points for them to win, even with his temporary absence.

Cain dives down to the ground, determined to prove a point. He saunters straight up to her and grabs her by the waist, pulling her into a kiss that is much longer and much more involved than acceptable for a gentlemen and a lady out in public. She throws her arms around his shoulders as she reaches up to meet his lips, one hand just barely teasing his hair.

Screw that prick standing next to her. She _is_ still his girlfriend, no matter how much Tom wishes she wasn't.

"Brilliant. You really should have played professionally," she says when he finally pulls away to let her breath.

He laughs and rests his forehead against hers, "And risked actual injury?"

She returns his smile, "You're right, it would be a shame if a terrible quidditch accident ruined your pretty face."

He looks into her eyes, sparkling at him, and everything is perfect in that moment.

Then, Lestrange interrupts the moment by clapping him on the back and shouting as he passes by, "Get a room."

She raises an eyebrow and giggles a little before pulling away. He sees something out of the corner of her eye as her arms slip off of his shoulders. She reaches out to take a celebratory glass of champagne one of the girls is handing out and there it is again. The little green snake.

He already knows it is there. Just seeing it shouldn't make him feel like this again, but he still feels like his stomach is dropping. He looks over and sees Tom talking to Avery and Selwyn, but their eyes meet and he knows he was really watching them.

She offers him the glass of champagne and he says, "One second."

He walks back over to the field, already tensing his fist. He calls out, "Hey, Nott!"

The other man looks up at Cain approaching him only to be immediately clocked in the jaw. After all, he'd only promised Lestrange he wouldn't use a curse.

"What the fuck, Rosier?" Nott yells, stumbling back and raising his arms up to try to protect himself.

"Yeah, what the fuck?" Cain says, grabbing his shirt this time so he can't run away any further. "Why the fuck are you talking about things that you know _nothing_ about?"

Nott sneers, "Think I might know more than you, mate."

This time Cain's fist meets his stomach and Nott almost tumbles over as Cain lets go of him and he stumbles back.

"That's enough, Rosier," Tom's voice comes loud and clear over the tittering of the maddening crowd.

Cain stops and turns around, for a second looking like he's going to round on Tom himself, before thinking better of it and stomping past him on his way into the house. Nott is still on the field, now spitting out blood. Tom waves his hand dismissively, "Someone heal him."

Tom follows Cassandra into the house. She knows he is coming, so she waits for him in the gallery rather than going to find Cain right away.

"That," she hisses, sensing he is about to say something. "Was your fault."

He traps her against the wall, hands on either side of her. He orders, "Control your boyfriend, Cass."

"Control yourself, Tom," she firs back, glaring up at him.

"How am I supposed to get anything done while monitoring his behavior all the time?"

"That seems like a self-imposed problem, doesn't it?"

"If he was a proper pureblood who had some bloody manners…"

"If you had some bloody manners, Nott wouldn't have had anything to talk about," she says sternly. She hadn't heard the conversation between him and Cain, but she can assume more or less what happened. "Go back outside or everybody will keep speculating, Tom."

"Is it speculating if it's true, Cass?" he asks with a smirk.

"You're so jealous that you want to have your little group fall apart? You want them so busy fighting among themselves that they have no time left to fight for a cause?" she spits out. "If you keep playing these games, that is exactly what will happen."

He is fuming across from her. All he knows is _want_. All his life he has been wanting things. Wanting to be different. Wanting to be powerful. Wanting to be immortal. Below all of those things, since the day he was first sorted into Slytherin with his raggedy second-hand robes and learned about these rich and revered pureblood dynasties, he has wanted to be one of _them._ He has wanted to have everything they have and more - and he did, for so long.

Now here is one of them with more, with something he can't have, and he does not want to accept that. He had wanted her since the day he had met her, since the minute she'd walked into the door of the shop, since the second she'd opened that lovely mouth of hers. As with everything else he has wanted, he will not give up until he has her.

He'd heard them. The entire time. He'd been standing outside the door, deciding whether to interrupt. He'd heard her say she wanted him. _Him_. How could someone want him and not him? How could she want him and not him?

However, he's intelligent enough to know that she is right, to know that she is _everything_ to Rosier and he won't just give that up because of something Tom does. No, she has to be the one to break them.

"I'll talk to him," she sighs. "I'm sure everybody can find a way to get along. Now go back outside and act like a gentlemen, Tom, or I will leave."

* * *

She leans against the desk, waiting for him to stop pacing. It had taken her ten minutes just to find him in the library, and he'd been doing this for another five already.

"You want to go home?" she asks. He finally looks over at her.

"Yes, but we shouldn't," he answers, walking up to her. He takes her waist and kisses her again softly. "I want to go _home_ with you, Cass."

"Then let's."

"There's still dinner."

"We can come back," she says with a smirk.

"No, it's… you didn't really come here to ask if I wanted to go, did you?"

She pulls away slightly, taking his hands in hers. Her voice is calm as she says, "You can't do that, Cain. You know you can't."

"Why can't I? Nott was asking for it."

"Not Nott. I'm sure he deserved it. You can't look like you're going to punch Tom," she says. He opens his mouth as if to say something and then looks away, eyes narrowed and mouth a straight line. Merlin, she can't remember the last time she's seen him unhappy. She almost whispers, "He told me what he does to keep you all in line - to punish you or whatever."

His eyes widen. His tone is frantic as he asks, "He didn't do anything to you, did he Cass?"

"No. Gods, if he tried it on me I would kill him. This is the worst he ever did to me," she replies, turning up her wrist to indicate the mark. She had seen him looking at it earlier and knows it must have been what set him off. She knows she cannot hold off on explaining any longer without making this situation worse for both of them. "See, we made a deal. He wanted me to have a constant reminder of it."

"What was the deal, Cass?"

"I get to keep seeing you and you don't get hurt for it."

"In exchange for what?"

"Seeing him," she explains with a small shrug.

Cain pulls away to pace again, debating whether to ask. Does he want to know? Does he want everybody else to know and be the only one who doesn't? At least he knows it's not really a choice now, or if it is it's one she made for him - at least partially.

Finally, he turns back to her and spits out, "Are you fucking him?"

"No," she answers. It's the truth. Technically. A very small technicality, but one nonetheless. She is the one to walk up to him now, to put her hands against his chest and say reassuringly, "Cain, you know you are the only one I want."

"If he touches you again -"

"You'll hold your tongue, and your fists," she commands. "If you try to attack him, then he can say he was just defending himself. Whatever he does, it doesn't mean anything. It's just a power trip, a way to keep us in our place."

"To keep me in my place, you mean," he says with a scowl. "Can't even be more important than him when it comes to my own girlfriend. Heaven forbid anyone tries to outshine him at anything."

"You don't think it bothers me too? For Merlin's sake, I've tried to get the hell away from him forever at least five times since we met, and he always bloody wins," she complains. She knows Tom doesn't just win, he escalates, and she is worried about what his next steps will be. "Whatever he does, don't let it piss you off. Don't give him what he wants. You both will behave like gentlemen in public from now on."

Cain is silent. They both know whether to allow Tom to continue his behavior is not really a choice either of them have. If she tries to break away from Tom outright, he will order Cain to stop seeing her and he will have to obey. If Cain tries to resist sharing her, he will come up with a way to punish Cain that does not technically violate their deal.

Anyway, she had tried to stop Tom long ago. She had asked Cain to leave, more than once. Nearly begged him to move to America, Australia, _anywhere_ that wasn't Europe. Cain had known what Tom was doing then, forcing this partnership onto her - he had to have known, from that very first day - and he had still said no. Now that she was somewhat embracing the inevitable fate he had helped push her into, he suddenly had decided he had enough. That her actually choosing Tom's company was too far for him. It irked her that he had waited until she had stopped resisting to start, if you could even call this resisting.

All they can hope is to temper him, to control his impulses enough that he isn't going to push beyond innuendo into outright action. At least not in front of everyone, she thinks. Not at all, he hopes, half knowing it is already too late for that no matter what she says. Because the way Tom touches her shouts out their sins. Because sometimes Cain looks down at her when he is inside of her and knows she is not there with him but thinking of someone else, and it is definitely not her husband. Because she'd said Tom's name once in her sleep, like a prayer, like a cry for relief, and Cain hadn't been able to shut his eyes again that night.

His grip on her tightens and she knows what he is thinking. He is not in a state to mind the consequences of his actions. They cannot go back out there like this. She reaches out to tilt his chin toward her, "Darling, look at me."

His eyes seem bluer than usual as they meet hers, his face hard as he tries to hide his anger. He does not want her to think he is angry with _her_. That is the farthest thing from the truth. He's angry at Tom. He's angry at himself. He should never have put her in his crosshairs. He had been so desperate to see her again, and Tom had been the one to give him a way to, though it hardly seemed worth it now.

She is careful to hold his gaze, though she drops her hand down to his chest instead, hiding the mark against the fabric of his shirt. Her voice is uncharacteristically soft, "No matter what happens out there, in my heart I am yours. I love you. We can play his game in public, but in private it is still just us. You are the only one I want to be with."

He can't have heard that correctly. He had long ago accepted that love was something she couldn't believe in, let alone say. The tears in his eyes almost threaten to spill over as he croaks, "Did you -"

"Yes," she answers, leaning in to kiss him. "I love you, Cain. You. _Just_ you."

He kisses her back, a few tears breaking free and staining both of their cheeks as he holds her face to his. He will do anything to keep this. Let Tom have whatever he wants. Put up with her giving Tom everything he needs to let them be like this. It is a dangerous thing, to be willing to barter away one's morals, for once one line has been crossed it is impossible to tell where the limit is anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest, I thought I wasn't going to post this week because one of my family members ended up in the hospital and I was feeling really down and worried about that plus busy with other things. But I am glad I decided to, because I kind of got caught up while finishing this chapter today and wrote the next one and a half chapters in a fit of inspiration - and I cannot express how much I love them.
> 
> Since this is kind of a major development in the story, I would really love a comment to see how you all feel about it :) In my mind, all the characters have emotions and motivations that are so complex. I try my best to capture the nuances of what's really going on in their heads without being too obvious, but I'm curious to hear what you think they think or of them in general to see if that's translating well.


	19. Fighting With Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it our words or our actions that reveal who we really are?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: Baby Don't You Lie to Me by The Fratellis

By the time they make it back, everybody has shuffled inside for pre-dinner drinks. Cain's face shows no sign of protest as he walks them over to the usual group gathered around Tom, stopping with her standing between them.

The smile on his face does not slip even as he catches the smirk that has appeared on Tom's. Even as Tom ignores the fact that their arms are still linked together and steps closer to her anyway, a hand landing on her back as he whispers something to her. Even when she slips out of his hold and into Tom's to whisper something back.

"I don't see why - "

"Behave and I'll let him sit next to you at dinner."

"Sit next to _me_?" she hisses back, skeptical already.

"Us," he admits. "Come."

Tom whisks her away a minute later, leaving barely enough time for her to mutter something about introductions to Cain as an explanation. He is fairly restrained, at least, as they make the rounds; his only contact with her the hand on her back as he guides her from group to group. She is carefully charming, keeping the conversation focused on the new people she is meeting rather than saying anything about herself - or letting Tom say anything about her. She still has the feeling that nobody has quite warmed up to her, that they are whispering about what she is doing here as soon as they turn around, but at least the disdain and jealousy are no longer written on their faces.

Tom must be equally satisfied with her performance, because when he returns her to Cain he finally does pull away. He lets Cain wrap his arm around her waist and pull her in without any snarky remarks, without any snide glances, without continuously vying for her attention. He lets Cain be the one to pull out her chair at dinner, though he pulls her attention away from their conversation regularly, as if to remind them he is still watching.

After all, who cares if Cain is the one holding her? Everybody here knows she isn't really his anyway.

* * *

It is after dinner that the real entertainment starts. The part he hadn't told her about. A little initiation process for the new recruits. A test to check their abilities and see where they would fall in the ranks. Taking into account the usefulness of their professional positions as well, of course. February is always a busy one because it is when the majority of the new crop of Hogwarts graduates, almost all Slytherins, finally get their chance to try at official membership. They had moved from their ministry training into their official posts at the start of the new year, and this is the first meeting after.

Luckily, she has already been maintaining her sobriety throughout the evening. Unluckily, she isn't quite dressed for such an occasion - but then again, one is hardly ever dressed and ready when an actual duel comes.

Tom is the first one to stand when dinner ends. He let her stay with Cain. This is not a time to go picking favorites. Though he is sure they had spotted his fondness for her already, and would quickly pounce. Within seconds, people start standing and following his lead.

As soon as she walks into the ballroom and sees Tom standing on the balcony with a few of his inner circle already there, as well as the circle of younger people arranged on the floor, all holding their wands and looking around nervously, she understands what is happening.

Cain leans down to kiss her cheek, whispering, "Be careful, alright? It doesn't really matter for you anyway, so don't go trying to show off."

She knows this is false. If anything, it matters more for her. If she fails, it will only serve to confirm the rumors on everybody's tongue about the reason she's here.

Cain walks up the stairs to stand next to Lestrange at the front of the balcony. She strides over to the circle, an empty place opening for her right in Tom's eye-line. He smirks down at her and she smirks back, pulling out her wand. This is a situation she had never wanted to be in again, but she is here, and she is going to make it count.

The doors close and Tom gives a short speech, though she is not listening to it. Her focus is on the others, judging them, gauging their stances, trying to pinpoint their weak spots. Finally, Tom waives his arm and the spells begin to fly.

At the start, they are mostly harmless. Stunners and freezers, nothing serious. Each time a wizard or witch loses their wand, they stand back up and shuffle to the free space under the overhang of the balcony, lining up and waiting for the action to end. She keeps out of the way, letting them pick each other off, dogging behind others and focusing on her shields.

Quickly enough, the field narrows to ten of them, and it suddenly seems everyone's focus has shifted to her. Tom's favorite. _They_ wanted to be Tom's favorite, to win his praise - especially the other woman, who turn particularly vicious. The spells are no longer so harmless, and she can no longer simply avoid them.

She darts to the end of the room, her back against the wall, one side at least protected. Tom's smirk turns into a brief chuckle as she waves an arm, a wall of fire seemingly bursting forth from her palm and forming a semicircle around her, cutting off any attacks from the right. He hears a shriek and looks away from her to see two woman rolling on the floor, robes and skin on fire. A wave of his hand to Carrow has them magically dragged from the floor to the sidelines and the fires on them put out. Healing will be taken care of later, after they have learned their lesson.

Cassandra strolls forward, exchanging curses with a wizard standing directly in front of her. A final one pierces his shield and sends him rolling to the floor screaming bloody murder as his legs snap just as Cassandra whips around to face another witch. Her turn takes her into a kind of curtsy movement, allowing a spell to whizz over her head and hit a second wizard who had just taken out two other witches and was now gunning for her. Boils erupt on his face. He tries to brandish his wand again, but Cassandra's wand arm shoots back behind her, a stunner taking him out of the game before he can.

A crack rings through the air as his jaw hits the hard floor, the sound unheard to her as her attention is already back on the other witch. Her wand spins back and now they are surrounded on all sides by fire, alone together and Cassandra's unhappiness showing on her face. She knows from the woman's choice of spell that this is personal to her, so she would take it personally too.

"That wasn't very nice," she says with a smile. "Why don't you see how it feels for yourself? _Imperio_."

It is the first successful unforgivable anybody has uttered that night. Calm washes over the witch's face and she turns the wand on herself, the same curse she had just said coming from her mouth again. This time, Cassandra waits until the boils have there desired effect, drawing screams from the witch as they pop and burn. She is still frozen on the spot per Cassandra's wishes. Cassandra walks up, plucking her wand and breaking it before stepping a safe distance away and setting her free. The girl falls to the ground, sobbing, covering her face in embarrassment. Cassandra lets the flames around them drop so the medics can get to her.

Three left now, Cassandra and a two wizards who are busy fighting one-on-one with each another. Tom recognizes both as freshly minted aurors, one a Macmillan and one a Rowle. She waits until Rowle disposes of the other and turns to her before acting, a gesture that means their exchange starts with grudging respect and the traditional rules that have long since been discarded in their other interactions actually being followed.

It is a snake that does it, in the end. A nice touch Tom knows is meant especially for him. Rowle shoots a stream of water and she throws up a barrier of flames, sending steam into the air that gives her cover to apparate behind him. The snake that appears from her wand wraps itself around his throat, squeezing his vocal cords. As he gasps for breath, she summons his wand to her. He tries a wandless spell but his vision has already become blurry and it does not land anywhere close to her. She waits, ready to put up a shield if one is needed, until he falls to the ground still clutching at the serpent and passes out.

Cassandra turns and glares up at Tom, her wand coming to rest along her side. Her hair has come partially undone and her dress is ripped, the red petticoat looking like a gash against her pale skin.

Tom does not turn away from her as he orders, "Avery. Mulciber."

Mulciber is out as soon as he reaches the bottom of the steps. She uses wandless and wordless magic to tie his shoelaces together on his way over, and he tumbles from the top of the stairs to the bottom, knocked out before he even makes the final impact.

Avery gulps as he steps over him. Tom can see from here he was shaking. He has never been one for this kind of fun, much preferring arguing on paper over arguing with wands. They are all out of practice anyway, nobody having made it this far without being too injured to keep fighting before.

She senses his trepidation too and puts him out of his misery quickly, putting him under a confundus charm and then telling him he was just going to go to the cellar to get another case of champagne. Several people behind Tom erupt in laughter as they watch him walk out.

Tom is amused as well, though he knew the two would hardly be a challenge. The next pair he has in store are much more inclined to do damage, "Nott and Lestrange."

Fortunately for her, Lestrange has never totally recovered from Tom's earlier punishment and his wand hand is weak, prone to shaking. Unfortunately, he still bears animosity toward her for it. Nott… well, he has a special inclination toward making women suffer, though it is typically consensual and done in a bedroom rather than in a ballroom.

She is like a dancer now, turning and bowing and jumping to maintain her spot between the two of them. It is a dangerous place to be, but also a wise one when she doesn't have time to run anywhere else. They are friends, so they are naturally both being careful not to seriously injure the other as they try to attack her, making them both hesitant in their movements. Tom can tell she was playing with them from the smile on her face, from the way she flicks her wand absentmindedly.

Lestrange is finally taken out by one of Nott's stunners, his hasty shield failing right at the moment she deflects it toward him. She turns to cast a spell that softens his fall, only for Nott to take the chance to pounce. He pulls her against him, an arm around her waist and his wand pointed at her head.

"I see what Tom sees in you, sweetheart," Nott quips, his voice low enough not to carry over to the crowd. "Perhaps he will let me have a turn next."

She turns her head, her lips nearly brushing against his cheek as she answers, "I think your bed is already busy enough."  
Her hand clamps down onto his forearm while he is distracted by her mouth. He yelps out in pain, trying to twist away from her. Her other hand darts up to hold his wand. He is the one to let it go as he wrenches away from her, clutching at his skin which still feels like it is on fire.

She tilts her head and he takes the hint, backing up until he is under the overhang with the rest of them. She tosses his wand back and he quickly heals himself.

"What are you waiting for?" Tom growls at the only one of them left.

Cain descends the stairs gracefully and faces her. They both look up at him but Tom does not relent, the raise of his eyebrow sending a clear message.

"J'ai dit de ne pas se craner," he jokes, trying to lighten the mood as they take their stances. They have done this dozens of times, but never as adults.

"Je n'ai pas fait ca," she jokes back, a smile gracing her face again. "Prêt?"

He nods and holds up his wand. The duel is polite again, Cain ever the gentlemen, and Tom is just getting bored when she decides to play a trick. The avis spell sends a flock of white doves flying forth from her wand, flapping around him and obscuring his vision. An invisibility charm washes over her as he is occupied, so that when he looks around again he cannot find her anywhere. His eyes shoot up to Tom, suspicious, before he feels a touch on his shoulder. He turns, trying to catch her, but his hand closes around empty air.

This routine keeps going until, frustrated, he starts casting stunning spells as soon as he thinks he feels even the slightest breeze. Another few minutes pass before she can no longer hold back her laughter. She drops the spell as it is futile to keep it going any longer at this point, revealing herself leaning lazily against the paneled wooden wall to his side.

She has always been impossible for him to catch, and today is no exception.

"You look tired," she teases, her voice laced with magic, soothing him nearly to sleep as his shock allows her to slip into his mind briefly and plant images of rest there.

"I'm not," he responds, pushing back against her. If there is one thing Tom cannot find fault in, it is Cain's ability to retain control over his mind.

"Not yet," she says with a smile. She sees Tom looking down at them and knows he is growing impatient. As fun as their little display has been, he wants to see she can do this.

She runs for Cain, taking him by surprise as he dodges to the side and tries to grab her arm as she passes. He misses her leg swinging out as she ducks past him, hooking under his and making him trip. A sleeping charm to the chest and he is out like a light, but she falls with him and keeps the impact from being too bad.

She looks up at Tom again and he nods, acknowledging her victory, though his smirk has turned to a scowl. She casts the counter-charm, waking Cain again. They whisper something to each other as they go to stand, Cain taking her arm and helping her up. His lips land on the back of her hand as he bows to her before turning and walking back up the stairs.

Tom's eyes finally leave her when he hears Cain's footsteps on the top step. He hates the way she holds him. So soft. So caring. He hates the way she smiles whenever she looks at him. So easy. So true. He hates the way she is still smiling now, oblivious to Tom's unhappiness as her eyes track Cain instead. He gets the urge to push him down the stairs. Hard, without the mercy she'd given to Mulciber. Hard enough to snap his neck. To see it break, to hear her scream, to take her in his arms and remind her there is no way of escaping him.

"My turn," he mutters. The crowd around him steps back, pressing themselves against the wall or railing as he passes. He has never taken the floor himself before.

He walks up to the fireplace on one side of the room while she goes to stand at the other. They nod to each other and then both raise their wands, their duel much less chaotic and much more fairly matched than any of her previous encounters.

After ten minutes or so he gets tired of trading spells back and forth, each one being deflected, and finally advances toward her, a barrage of temporarily disabling but ultimately harmless curses flying from him. She reacts by dodging before casting a fog that fills the entire floor with grey smoke, enveloping the room in temporary blindness. He casts a shield around him and hears a few curses crash against it. Unlike his, her's are dangerous. Not dangerous enough to cause permanent damage, but dangerous enough to hurt.

A few moments later, the fog dissipates, and he finds her no longer standing in front of him. He turns just in time to knock back the curse that was about to hit him. She is standing only feet behind him now, a spell he has never seen before creating a wall of crystals in front of her which move by their own volition to block the curses he is throwing at her. He cannot see her wand moving, and yet balls and whips of glowing fire encircle him as he advances toward her, almost too quickly for him to cast enough water to put them out.

Finally, he casts a spell that is strong enough to send a web of cracks through the air, shattering her barrier. She is on the defensive again, wand frantically crossing in front of her to deflect his spells. By the time he has her trapped, she is nearly panting. He immobilizes her for the briefest second as he takes her wand from her, tucking it into the hidden pocket in her skirt.

"You do live up to your family crest, little harpy," he hisses, hand coming up to her face. His fingers brush against her cheek on their way to tuck her loose hair back behind her ear. His other hand is pressed against the wall by her side.

Her breath hitches in her throat when his eyes move over to capture hers. They seem entirely black, like a sky without stars. Her adrenalin surges even higher, making her woozy. He leans forward, his nose nearly brushing hers, and for a second she thinks he is going to be insane enough to kiss her here, in front of all of them.

Tom wants to, so badly. The way she fights is the sexiest thing he has ever seen. It has added another spark to the fire he feels when he looks at her, his mind completely ablaze with his want now. Kissing her feels like a matter of survival in that moment, as if the only air in the room that will soothe his searing lungs is the breath from hers. She is perfect for him, truly. The only person he has ever met who he feels matches him, and he wants everybody to know it. But the look in her eyes is only half desire, balanced by fear. Not of him, he knows. Of them. Of what they will think of her if he does this.

He resists satiating his desires, instead simply whispering, "Go get cleaned up. The dancing will start soon."

He steps away from her, quickly turning. He goes to stand in front of the new members, several of whom are still nursing their injuries. Cassandra feels everyone's eyes on her as she walks. Her footsteps are measured, the swirling panic inside of her carefully hidden, as she slips out of the double doors and down the hallway to the lady's sitting room.

The heavy wood door slams behind her and she falls against it, finally letting out a breath. She can't believe he beat her. He hadn't even broken a sweat. He hadn't even tried to hurt her.

No matter, she just had to get better. It had been years since she dueled anyway. She was just rusty. It hadn't even been a fair fight. She'd already been dueling for nearly an hour before facing him. She was just exhausted.

Except she knows she is not exhausted, not in the slightest. She is exhilarated. She feels like pure ambrosia is flowing through her veins - and she knows it is not only because of the fighting. She closes her eyes, trying to calm herself by controlling her breathing. In. One, two, three, four. Out. One, two, three, four. In. Out. In.

Her efforts are futile. It is too hard to focus on her breath when the smell of sandalwood won't leave her senses. It is hard to focus when her cheek still feels cool to the touch. It is hard to focus when the image of that little witch frozen and screaming is still burned into her eyelids.

A knock comes on the door, making her jump. She steps aside and pulls it open. Cain walks in and she closes it again before rushing toward the mirror and busying herself with unpinning her hair. His expression is a question she does not want to answer.

He waits for her to say something and when she does not he moves on, deciding to ask instead, "Are you ok?"

"Fine. See, not even a scratch," she responds, forcing a smile and waving an arm at him. She decides to leave her hair down and turns toward her ripped skirt. "I am afraid my outfit faired substantially worse, however."

"I can get Carrow to lend you something," Cain offers. He walks up behind her, arms wrapping around her, lips grazing along back of her neck.

A quick cleaning charm followed by a hemming charm on either side of the slit in the fabric to even out the rip has her looking nearly as good as new. She meets his eyes in the mirror to say, "No, thank you. I think I like it, actually."

"I know I like it," he responds with a mischievous smile, fingers toying with the strip of red crinoline now showing. "I hope you still have enough energy to keep your promise tonight, my princess?"

She turns to kiss him. He keeps hold of her lips until he runs out of air, holding on to her as if the second he lets go he will lose her again. He pulls away and lets them both breath only after she presses gently on his shoulder.

She smiles as she dodges another kiss, "For you, always - but shouldn't we head to the dance now, my prince?"

He walks her back as slowly as he can manage. The doors are propped open when they reach them, the room mostly full again, with the exception of those who needed more serious recuperation. A record is playing and what was once a battlefield is now filled with dancing couples. Tom is standing by the bannister talking to Avery. Most likely chiding him for his performance, she thinks. Tom's gaze snaps to them as soon as they enter.

"I should get us drinks," Cain mutters.

"Stay. Please," she asks, holding onto his arm so he cannot pull away. "Let's dance."

"Cass…" he starts, his tone enough of a warning without saying what both of them know.

"What's he going to do about it?" she reminds him. His smile grows again and he takes her hand to lead her to the dance floor.

* * *

Tom lets them enjoy their peace - or, more accurately, lets them put on a show of enjoying themselves - for a few songs before he entices her away again. This time it is just a whisper in her ear between songs and a smug glance at Cain before leaving from the ballroom. She prattles out something about business and follows.

He is waiting right outside of the doors with the folder from Macnair sitting in his hands. She plucks it up quickly, already knowing that he won't give her much time to review them before he takes advantage of her attention to demand a few dances with him. She takes a few steps down the hall to escape some of the noise, then leans back against the wall as she flips through the papers.

"So?" he asks after what feels like only five minutes.

"I would prefer to see the actual books before I put a wager down."

"I told you, Macnair says he's demanding a number now before he lets us see them to make sure we are serious, so make sure it is a good one."

"I can't read his mind - or the business' value - from here."

"It doesn't have to be the number. Just something good enough to entice him, and reasonable enough that he doesn't think it's a joke."

"Gambling is a notoriously risky business, on both ends. It could make 100,000 galleons this year and loss 200,000 the next. How am I supposed to guess what it's worth based on partial records from a few months?"

"He'll be expecting a price based on what it is making, not on what it could lose."

"How much do I have to take out for you?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Thirty percent," he returns with a dashing smile he already knows won't work on her.

"Bit steep considering, isn't it?"

"Considering what?"

"You are getting what you really want out of the deal already - another reason to demand the pleasure of my company. Ten percent. It really should be zero."

He leans closer to her, trapping her between the wall and his body, "By that logic, perhaps I should charge you extra for giving you the _pleasure_ of my company."

She rolls her eyes, "Keep it in your pants, Tom. I already said I don't want it."

"It's sweet of you to pretend you were satisfied by that show you two put on earlier, but we both know you need something a little rougher to really get you off," he hisses. His fingers play with her hair as his breath raises goosebumps on her skin. "How long did you leave the bite marks there to remind you of me? Do you remember where they used to be? Do you look at them while he fucks you or does it make you too sad to think about how good it could be?"

"I don't -" she starts to protest.

He just chuckles. He can guess from the way she is bitting her lip that is not true, and he is right. He is a near constant presence in her dreams, splitting open more than just her shell of secrecy in them, leaving her waking up wet and wanting whenever she is alone for the evening.

"Let me remind you then."

His mouth descends on her neck, one of his hands holding her hips down against the wall while the other pulls her hair tight to make sure she cannot move away. His lips barely skim her skin. Soft enough not to leave marks, yet just hard enough to make her crave more.

The papers slip from her hands as her body relaxes into his, as the world blurs and she begins to lose focus. Somebody could walk in on them. She should know better. She should stop him. And yet that had all been true when his hand had crept under the table, and she hadn't even tried then. She can't bring herself to try now. It is already taking all her effort to resist demanding more.

"I said to act like a gentleman," she gasps out between uneven breaths, naively hoping he will bring an end to the situation since she can't bear to. His hand slips from her hair to her neck as he lifts his mouth.

"You said to find a way to get along. This is my way. I can be nice in public, little harpy - but only if I get to be mean behind closed doors to make up for it."

She thinks he must be hoping Cain will know they didn't leave just to talk, that Tom's point in pulling her away was to settle the score between them. If he is going to be this competitive every evening, she is sure she won't be able to hold out for much longer.

He kisses her now, the pressure of his fingers growing as he does to express his displeasure at the foreign taste on her tongue. Finally, he pulls back again, returning to her neck to soothe the spots he just touched with laps of his tongue. His hand slides down to her chest, fingers barely brushing against the fabric covering her skin, lingering where he knows he will get the strongest reactions as he moves downward. He can hear her silent gasps above him as she cranes her neck up into his mouth, can almost feel the air being drawn shakily into her lungs as she tries to suppress the noises that want to come tumbling from her lips.

His hand slips from her hip only to pull her leg up against his. She hitches her leg around his, drawing him in, her hips leaving the wall to crash against his. When he responds by placing a palm firmly on her ass and pushing her against his bulge, she shudders at the friction. He presses her back against the wall again, pulling her hair as he moves her head to force her to meet his eyes and then kisses her. Their kisses are all teeth and tongues, clashing hungrily against each other, both trying to dominate and devour the other.

Her hands leave his shoulders, slipping down his chest and reaching his belt. He lets her undo it this time. She unzips his pants and slips a hand in, delighting far too much in the shiver that runs through him in response. She wants to see him come undone in her hands. She wants to see the great Tom Riddle - as cold as a statue, as controlled as a robot, as unyielding as a god - lose himself to her.

He clicks his tongue in her ear, pretending to admonish her, "You pretend to be a good girl in front of them, Cass, but I know you. You would let me fuck you right here if I wanted to, wouldn't you? All the while professing that you didn't want it while never fighting back."

"Are you trying to pretend you don't already want to?"

"Not here, little harpy. Not yet. Be patient."

She realizes that he was not referring to his competition with Cain. He was referring to being mean to her. What he meant was he is not going to let her finish again. He is going to leave her wanting again, and this time he will not make the mistake of letting her have the chance to take out her frustrations elsewhere before the end of the evening. He starts kissing her neck again in response to the glare she throws him at the realization.

"I hate you," she says, voice nearly a sigh.

His lips move to her shoulder, his fingers sliding the sleeve of her dress to the side to make way for them. He bites down hard and then sucks, drawing a whimper from her. In response, her hand squeezes him ever so slightly, and he cannot hold back a groan. Except for when they are dancing, she is hardly ever the one to touch him, and he doesn't think he can take it much longer. He's going to explode into her hand if she does that again, and such a premature end which be disappointing after he's already put in so much effort.

He pulls her hands away. He pushes her arms back against the stone, holding her wrists in place. He lifts his lips from her skin to look into her eyes as they both catch their breath, still so close that they are basically sharing the same air.

"Invite me to come home with you," he orders.

"Why would I want to spend even more time with the worst person I have ever met?" she fires back, annoyed - at being kept waiting again, at how close he'd let them get before stopping things, at how she had been ready to surrender and he'd been the one to rebuff her this time.

He kisses her deeply, pulling away just when she starts to respond to his affections. He barely pulls back before responding, "I'll be the best fuck you've ever had."

"Someone's cocky."

"Trust me, Cass, once you experience my cock you'll understand why."

"I was just playing along, Tom. I don't want you," she snarls.

His right hand drops between her legs, pushing the fabric of her skirt aside. His palm brushes her panties, confirming what they both already know. They are soaked enough to wet his fingers even from such brief contact. He hisses, "Don't lie to me, Cassandra."

His fingers pull on the strap of her garter belt as he moves his hand away, the snap against her skin making her jump up against him again. She whimpers, half from the sting and half from the friction. He drops away from her and leans against the opposite wall, still surveying her with his eyes as they both fix their appearances.

When she looks up again after smoothing down her skirt, a flash of black fabric in his hand draws her attention. One of the bows formerly on her garter belt flits between his fingers before he smirks at her and shoves it in his pants pocket.

"Twenty percent," he offers cooly.

He's going to fuck her tonight. Bent over her bed. Laying down in it. Standing against it. He's going to fuck her all night long until she is screaming his name at the slightest touch, until her body gets into the habit of submitting to his desires whenever he is near. He can feel how close she is already and knows she won't be able to resist. Knows that if he offered it, she would happily ride out his hand or his leg right here no matter what she says.

"Twenty percent," she agrees with a nod, desperately wanting to escape his burning eyes as quickly as possible. She had made a promise to Cain already, and breaking it would not be easy to explain. "And 400,000 galleons. It's the most I could lose without caring, and it should be more than someone like him has ever seen."

"I will send Macnair a letter later tonight. From your home, I hope, Cassandra. Shall we go dance?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few hours early to celebrate the 4th of July - or just the fact that another week is finally almost over. Does this ending count as a cliffhanger, or do you think you already know what's going to happen next? As always, I would love to hear any thoughts :) Comments are truly the lifeblood that keeps me going throughout the workweek so I can come back to post again.


	20. Head for Business, Body for Sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They both want to be each other’s weakness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyes So Wide by KOKO

"So, either of you going to explain what all of that was? Lestrange? Nott?" Avery asks as they sit down at a bar after the party. Mulciber is busy tending to his wife, who had enjoyed the celebrations a bit too much. Rosier had declined their invitation in favoring of going home with Cassandra, and Tom had left shortly thereafter with barely a word.

"All I'll say is Mulciber should clean his dinning chairs," Nott snickers.

"He should probably do the couch in the lounge first," Lestrange snipes.

"Seriously?" Nott asks, raising an eyebrow at him. "Cain must have a death wish."

"It's a miracle he's not dead already," Avery chimes in, signaling the waiter for a bottle of firewhisky and three glasses. "We all know what happens to people who mess with Tom Riddle's things."

"She's keeping them both very much in line, isn't she? They were playing so nicely with each other after they all came back," Nott drawls, rolling his eyes. "That prat didn't even get a nice little curse for hitting me."

"You deserved it. In the future, don't be a prick, Nott," Lestrange scolds. "I know you have about a dozen girlfriends at any given time, but he only has the one."

"I didn't tell him to date the one woman he definitely shouldn't be touching, did I Lestrange? Even I have never been that driven by my cock."

"And I definitely told him not to, but here we fucking are, aren't we?" Lestrange snarls. "No one wants to be in this situation. Don't make it worse. Cain is not some random bloke off the street who pissed Tom off. He's one of us. He's our friend. In the future, whatever we can do to take his side - to make this easier for him - we do."

"I'll tell you how to make it easier for him. Tell him to leave her the fuck alone."

"I'm going to have to agree with Nott here. It's the best possible outcome."

"You both know how he feels about her. Is it ill advised? Hell yes. Doesn't matter apparently because he's not giving up."

"Mate, if Tom wants her he's going to get her," Nott counters. "I'm not getting in the middle of that, and I would recommend neither of you do. Besides, it's about time the golden boy got knocked down a peg."

"As I said, don't be a prick. I'm not asking you two to risk your own safety. I'm just asking you not to actively make this worse for Cain by talking or laughing about it. And, if you can, to occupy Tom's time and attention at events so that there's less of an opportunity for conflict."

"Fine, Lestrange. I'll try," Avery says, still looking not too sure about this decision. "You're right, he doesn't deserve this."

"Honestly, I think Tom should have her," Nott replies with a shrug. "Cain's not cut out for her, I can tell."

"Nobody asked for your opinion on that matter," Lestrange grumbles. "Unless you want Cain to do something worse to you next time, I'd suggest you agree to my proposal."

* * *

"Does that bitch really think she can just fuck her way into being one of us?" Fawley snarls, a glass of wine tilting dangerously in her hand as she collapses onto a chair in the sitting room of Grimmauld Place.

"Not can, has," Snyde remarks as she takes her own seat. "Who counted the amount of time at least one of them was actually _not_ touching her the whole day?"

"Not counting the duel? It's a rounding error to zero," Greengrass answers, taking a sip of her own wine.

Selwyn speaks up, trying to take the conversation in a different direction by saying, "We should invite her to our teas."

Greengrass laughs, "Are you insane? I am not spending time with that - "

"Whatever awful things you think about her, it's clear Tom doesn't. And, to be clear, neither do I. It would be wise - "

"No, it's clear he thinks _exactly_ what I do about her. That she doesn't care one iota about Rosier and is going to break his heart again without a second thought."

"Since when were you my brother's keeper, Greengrass?" Druella asks snidely, joining them after finally being able to put the baby down. She had been in no physical condition to attend the day's events, but she was still eager to hear about them.

"You didn't see them together, Ella!"

"I have before. We all know how Tom can be when some shiny new thing catches his attention. But she is stubborn, and repentant. He will move past it before she forgives herself enough to even think of hurting Cain. In the meantime, please refrain from implying that my future sister-in-law is shagging our lord."

Fawley snorts, "She didn't look repentant when she was curled up next to him during the reception. Let alone when he almost snogged her in front of all of us. And somebody said they heard -"

"Please shut up, Melody. My family will not entertain such unfounded speculation," Druella declares.

"Unfounded? Merlin, I know you want to protect him, Ella - but you can't pretend that it's just rumors after everything people have seen them do. Anyway, you should be thrilled. Perhaps our lord be generous enough to let you call the next Heir of Slytherin one of yours."

Several snickers erupt around the room. Druella scowls, "Enough, ladies. She is _not_ shagging him. That I can say for certain."

"Really? How can you be so certain?"

"You mean besides the fact that she spends practically every night in my brother's bed? Perhaps the fact that Tom has never retained interest in anybody he's shagged for more than a hot second afterward - as you should well know, Fawley."

"Now it's not fair to bring that up, Druella," Greengrass chimes in. Fawley is about to thank her when she seeks the smirk on her face. "He only shagged Melody to make Cassandra jealous. Hardly a good comparison to base your assumptions on, though I do think they are accurate. If she _was_ shagging him already, Tom would definitely not still be letting your dear brother touch her at all, so don't go adding her to the family tree just yet."

"Don't be mean just because you are jealous that you definitely won't ever be joining the family now, Evelyn," Druella says with a return smirk before turning to the others. "Let's be realistic, we all know how Cain feels about her. That isn't going to change even if she does fuck Tom once to sate his curiosity and be free of his demands on her attention. Though, to restate and make sure no rumors arise from my statement, she hasn't and she won't."

"Merlin, I have never heard you be so naive before, Ella," Selwyn jumps in. "She is not like the others. As if that wasn't obvious enough already, today's displays proved it. It is a shame you couldn't attend and see for yourself what she did to her opponents."

Snyde leans forward, nearly whispering, "Surely, Tom won't… He's never…"

"You've all seen the way he looks at her. You all better get used to bowing to our lady soon. Which is why we should invite her to tea."

* * *

Tom is pissed. He is standing across the street from Rosier's townhouse, glaring at the lit up windows on the third floor, his wand twirling in his hand.

He could kill him. Just compel a house elf to slip a potion into his water. Make it look like a heart attack. He'd die with her sleeping next to him, and Tom would be there to soothe her grief. It wouldn't be nearly as enjoyable as watching the life drain from him for himself, but it would do the job.

He could fuck her. Just sneak in and take her from his bed. Hell, he didn't even have to move her. He would do it right in front of him. It didn't matter what she said, he _knew_ she wanted him. He just had to make her know that too. She would be begging him to take her before she registered where she was.

Her silhouette appears against the window. A minute later the lights turn off. Another window comes alive now, on the second floor. Tom knows it is his study. The light is softer this time, but the window is also larger and the curtains are pulled back. She is wearing a short white nightgown, its lace and satin layers barely obscuring anything. He watches her take a seat at the desk, only her side profile visible now as she leans over and begins scratching something on a piece of parchment.

He looks around at the street, making sure it is empty. There is really no danger of anybody spotting him. In this neighborhood, all has already been quiet and dark for hours. Even if she looked out, the lack of streetlights makes it almost certain she wouldn't be able to see him watching her.

Tom slips the bow out of his pocket and holds it up to his face, his eyes slipping closed as he takes in her scent still lingering on it. His other hand pulls his zipper down and he slips his cock out, fisting it once before shuddering and looking up at her again. The things he wants to do to her. The things he will do to her next time they are alone together. The things he will do to Cain once she is his.

He finishes in his hand, wiping it off on his boxers before tucking himself back in and tucking the bow back into his pocket. He stays there, looking up at her, until the lights turn off again.

* * *

Tom sends Cassandra a note that they can skip Wednesday's meeting, disguising it as a present for her exceptional performance in the duels. He sends Mulciber to take his place and watch over Dolohov on Friday, telling him to tell her something else has come up if she asks where he is.

If he sees her, he knows he will do something he will not be able to come back from in her eyes. He will break all his promises to her and she will keep hers, disappearing into the wind again once he hurts her, even if that means leaving Cain behind.

Every night he finds himself in front of Cain's townhouse again, fantasies of the various discrete ways he can kill him during her next visit floating through his head. Luckily for Cain, she is too busy, as usual, to stay the night during the week. Anyway, Tom can never think of a way to do it that doesn't end in her knowing it was him, which is really what saves Cain's life.

An hour before the shop is set to close on Friday, a knock on Tom's office door takes his attention away from the chest he is trying to break a curse on. It had belonged to Merwyn the Malicious, and rumor was it contained his writings on reanimating the dead.

He hadn't heard the shop bell ring, so he assumes it is just Borgin or Burke asking him for the receipts for the week. Without thinking, he says to come in as he finishes up the wand motions for another spell that fails to crack the lock.

"Good afternoon, Tom," she says, a polite smile on her face.

"Didn't Mulciber tell you I was busy, Cassandra?" he responds, glaring at her. Why does she actively insist on tempting him to misbehave if she's only going to fault him for it afterward?

"He did," she answers, closing the door and stepping toward his desk despite his sour expression. "But seeing as we have an important meeting tomorrow, I thought making sure we were on the same page beforehand was worth interrupting you for."

"It is your business. I will let you handle the negotiations."

"So you won't be joining the meeting Saturday?"

"I don't have time -"

"Your latin is wrong here," she points out, leaning over the desk and tapping her finger against the spell he was crafting. "And the runes on the lid indicate you need to prick some magical blood right here for it to run down and trigger the lock before you say the spell. That's why it's not working."

He waves a hand, spelling the damn thing to float off his desk and on to the shelves on the other wall, before snarling, "I don't need your help, Ms. Malecrit."

"Merlin, are you really _still_ holding a grudge because I didn't give in to your little ploy?" she asks as she straightens up again. "If this is how you are going to react every time I refuse to fuck you from now on, it's probably better _I_ don't go to the meeting tomorrow."

He leans back in his chair, jaw twitching, before calming himself enough to say, "I am not holding a grudge about anything. I am merely tired of your games."

" _My_ games?" she fires back with a laugh. "That part of our relationship has always been driven by you, and you alone."

"Don't lie, Cassandra. You've been physically drawn to me since that day on the beach. You don't think I can feel the way your skin flushes when I am nearby? See the way you bite your lips when you look at me? Notice how close you drift to me when we are together? You have done more than enough to encourage me, and far less than you could have to stop me."

She is silent in response to his accusations, the one glaring now. He smirks and stands from his chair, walking up behind her. She refuses to turn to face him, her arms crossed in front of her. His land on either side of the desk, surrounding her, as he leans forward to hiss in her ear.

" _You_ came to see _me_ , Cass. Here, in private, of your own volition. Already knowing I am less than pleased with how our last meeting ended, with being denied what should have been mine that evening. What were you hoping I was going to do to punish you?"

He gives her a minute to respond, the tension growing between them. She remains silent. Finally, she moves, only to try to push his arm away so she can leave. He grabs her before she can.

"Answer me," he orders, fingers flexing against her throat long enough to send a message but not hard enough to truly hurt her.

She takes in a shaky breath before saying, "I just wanted to make sure you would be at -"

He laughs, "Don't lie to me, Cass. Don't lie to yourself. What is it you want me to do?"

She snarls, "I don't want -"

He places a soft kiss on the back of her neck before whispering, "Fine. Since you refuse to act on your desires, I will do it for you, Cassandra. I will be the monster you so desperately want to pretend I am."

He tears her arms away from her body with his other hand, pressing her wrists down against the table. A rope appears magically around them, tying them together and locking them down. It is a simple spell, one they both know she could undo without a wand or any words - but she won't, because he knows what matters to her is the illusion of being compelled. What matters to her is keeping up the facade that she is not choosing this, not choosing him. His right hand comes down on the back of her thigh, pushing her legs apart.

She gasps when he touches the hem of her skirt, "I can't do this to -"

He smirks, "It will be our little secret."

For now, he thinks. He has no intention of sharing for long. Cain had taken her away from him that night. He would take her away from Cain forever.

His left hand pushes her skirt up. He pulls her hair back with the other, keeping her at the perfect angle for her hips to tilt up toward him. His nimble fingers push her underwear down until they slip to the floor. She whimpers when he touches her, fingers diving through her folds, teasing her until she's so slick the smell fills the entire room.

"You can feel how much you are enjoying this, imagine how much you would enjoy that," he hisses. She doesn't answer so he keeps playing, watching as she struggles to suppress her reaction. "Do you want me to stop, Cass?"

"No," she gasps out. Two of his fingers dive completely into her without warning, filling her so abruptly that it is almost painful but not moving enough to give her the pleasure she wants once they are buried inside her.

"Tell me you want me," he commands.

She doesn't answer but she moves against him, almost causing him to burst as she grinds her ass back against his crotch. He pulls her hair harder so that her hips are forced back against the desk. She tries in vain to squirm enough to feel his fingers moving, drawing a chuckle from him, "You are on the verge of orgasming for me harder than you ever have for him, aren't you? Trust me, Cassandra, I am barely getting started. Tell me you want me or I'll stop."

She still doesn't answer. He moves his fingers inside her, pumping and curling until she is shaking beneath him, and then withdraws. She whimpers, "Please."

"Say it, Cass," he hisses.

He twists her head around to make her look back at him. He can sense the debate raging in her head for a second, see in her eyes the guilt being overcome by the _need_ and her control slipping. She knows he is not going to release her until he gets what he wants, and how bad can just giving it to him be? It is easy to tell herself that they both know she does not mean it anyway.

"I want you," she whispers.

He's going to fuck the guilt right out of her. He's going to make her mean it.

He slips into her, ripping a moan from her. A few thrusts is all it takes for him to be able to bottom out. He leans forward once he is all the way inside her, bitting at her earlobe before he hisses, "Just as perfect as I thought it would be. Like you were made for me, my little harpy."

She braces herself against the table as he works to coax an orgasm from her body with measured trusts and his hand still between her legs. His other hand slips from her hair to kneed her breasts through her shirt.

"Lift those hips up for me, Cass. That's it, good girl… _Fuck_ ," he groans out as he feels her spasm around him, leaning over to bite her shoulder in an effort to restrain himself. He stills to take in the sensation before starting again with the admonishment, "You are going to wait for me this time, my little harpy. Understand?"

"Then focus on fucking me instead of talking, Tom," she fires back.

Her command only makes him want to tease her more, to hold out as long as he can. Finally, when he can feel her clenching and his cock throbbing with every movement, he lets himself go inside of her. She follows, coming so hard that she slumps over the desk, her legs shaking and chest heaving. He pulls away and cleans himself up as she remains there, trying to regain her breath.

He strolls back over to his chair, taking a seat. They are face to face now, Cassandra still trapped in her position by the ropes he has left around her wrists. His seed inside of her and her juices coating his cock. Finally.

Their eyes meet, a scowl on her face at how contented his is. She tries to say something but he moves forward to kiss her before she can, languishing on her lips, tasting her as she lays there nearly limp.

"Don't bother threatening to leave if I do that again. I know you won't. You need me, Cassandra. Nothing else will satisfy you now."

"I do not _need_ you, in any domain and much less so in this one."

"The way you respond to me would beg to differ," Tom says, thumb skimming the snake on her skin, drawing goosebumps. "Come now, you must realize there is no point in denying your desires anymore, my little harpy."

She catches the change in his nickname for her for the first time, regret blossoming in her chest in response. She growls back, "I'm not denying anything. I just don't want you."

"You just said differently, didn't you?" Tom answers with a smirk. His finger taps against the ropes and they dissolve. She stands back up and pulls down her skirt. Her underwear is gone, and she knows he must have taken it for himself, which irks her even more.

"You forced me to."

"Please, like you couldn't have broken that spell in a matter of seconds."

"You are an arrogant, dictatorial tosser."

"And you want me to fuck you again, don't you?"

"I hate you."

Tom raises an eyebrow, "Answer the question or I won't do it again. Ever."

She looks down at her skirt, smoothing it out, to hide the blush that creeps on to her face as she says, "Yes. Fine, I want you to fuck me. That does not mean I want _you_. Understand?"

Tom ignores the later part of her answer, simply asking, "Your place or mine?"

"I have plans this evening."

"Let me guess, dinner with your little pet?" Tom asks with a chuckle. "I will throughly enjoy the image of you sitting there sore from my cock as you try to focus on him."

He will be nice by letting Cain have this final time with her before he takes her for himself - though a large part of him just hopes he will sense the change in her and know what they have done.

"As full of yourself as always I see," she responds with an eye roll. "I will meet you here tomorrow so we can arrive at the casino together?"

"You are the one full of me, my little harpy," he teases. "I will be waiting here at 2 p.m. Do not be late this time."

"I am sure you realize that request is futile," she responds before turning the doorknob.

* * *

It is later that night, laying in Cain's bed, that Cassandra takes the time to process what she'd done. Contrary to his prevailing interpretation of her actions, she had not gone to Tom's office earlier that day because she wanted _that_ to happen. No, she'd gone to get back his attention. As much as being the subject of it made her stomach turn, she'd recently been reminded that the alternative was even less desirable.

She'd had dinner with Cain Wednesday night, at the time thinking nothing strange of Tom's decision to forgo their own meeting. Being grateful for it, even. As soon as he'd sat down, she had noticed he looked tired. Again, she didn't think much of it. He was a busy man. But something had seemed just a bit off about his smile too, so she'd asked if he was alright. Just a few nightmares, he'd said. Nothing to worry about.

It was when he turned down the glass of firewhisky that she knew something must really be off. It was clear he wanted to stay alert - or as alert as he could be, given that it looked like he hadn't slept more than a few hours over the span of the last few days. She just smiled and pretended not to notice. Cain was very good at protecting his mind, but she could read every expression on his face and decipher every one of his actions.

She had lied and said she had gotten a hotel room down the street because she had an early morning meeting in London and didn't want to wake him - but would he perhaps like to come too? It would be a fun change of scenery, she joked. As soon as they finished, he was out. Asleep with that perfect face of his truly relaxed again and his muscular arms wrapped loosely around her, looking like the marble statute of a greek god in the bed next to her, as handsome and carefree as ever.

It was Tom, she had known instantly. She would not put it past him to try to drive Cain crazy. To plant nightmares in his head, through magic or threats. It appeared she'd underestimated what Tom's reaction to actually seeing her choose him would be. She had feared that Tom would soon take the excuse of not seeing her to go back on their promise, to hurt him in some concrete way instead of just whatever little games he was playing. She had to protect Cain, even if that meant putting herself in the firing line of his anger.

This was what she had told herself when she had been awake staring at the dear, sweet boy who would never hurt her, whose gentle hold made her feel normal and cherished. Who was too nice to even tell her what Tom was doing to him because of her. Who was too afraid of losing her to complain.

But she had felt like Tom was haunting her dreams too, because he had been there again when she had closed her eyes, the feeling of cold lips and hard touches all over her, never enough and always too much. His smell, his magic, his hands suffocating her in the sweetest way, making her beg for more, making her wake with a start and pray she hadn't said the words aloud.

Maybe, just maybe, she had wanted to see him. A little. Maybe she had wanted to know what was running through his head. To see if she'd gotten to him and revel in her victory if she had. After all, she's had already made herself a piece on Tom's chessboard. There is no going back, so she might as well play the game. She hadn't realized how seriously he took winning. Or maybe she had and she hadn't wanted to resist it anymore.

Whatever it was that had driven her to his office, the truth of what had happened there was undeniable - mostly because she could still feel him between her legs. Worse, she could no longer deny to herself that thinking of seeing him the next day made her ache even more.

She could run. He is dangerous. She is dangerous when she is with him. He will make her the worst version of herself and call it setting her free. She knows that. Had known a man like him once. Different ideas, same ambitions. Then again, is it even really possible to go back from the things she has done? This all still feels like an act; he is right about that much. If it isn't possible, if she is still who she was, then why not use his help to redirect her anger at her past into something useful?

She wants to be here. To be a part of this. To be with Cain.

She will give in - to what she wants and to him. Enjoy the experience of fucking him, while it lasts. Eventually, she is sure, he will get bored. He will leave her to Cain, to whatever happiness they can have left. It is the best outcome of all the ones she can imagine at this point.

In the meantime, she will embrace the power it gives her over him. She had heard the need in his voice when he'd demanded she say she wanted him, noticed the desperation in his eyes when he'd kissed her afterward. It will keep Cain safe, his desire to keep her, as long as she makes sure he remembers the terms of their arrangement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, twenty chapters and over 90,000 words down! Every single chapter takes several hours of drafting and editing, and it's hard to sit down and do that when it feels like nobody is going to read it. If you have read this far, please, please just leave a comment on this chapter at least. Literally anything (even just a few words) is super motivating and makes me feel like people actually appreciate this so I should keep working on it. Thank you :)
> 
> Also, question for those who feel like answering it... how smutty do y'all want this to get, or not get?


	21. Between Love and Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It turns out weaknesses can be a good thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Royal Highness by Tom Grennan

The meeting passes without much of note. Cassandra revises her initial offer down to 300,000 galleons based on the actual books. Bagman tries to argue but ends up accepting it, and she hands him the note to draw the funds from her Gringotts account. He is a not a bad man, nor a dull one, but his insistence on trying to use flattery to cover up his flimsy negotiating position has her grateful to see the back of him by the end of their negotiations.

She suspects Tom is grateful too, as he'd had his eyes narrowed since the start of the meeting and had pointedly moved his chair up in the middle of it, positioning himself very nearly in front of her as if he thought Bagman might try something at any second.

She smiles as she shakes his hand and waves him goodbye at the door, Tom sulking behind her. She turns to see him still glaring over her shoulder. He joins her on a walk around the floor. The casino has already been shut down for the weekend in anticipation of the deal.

"You are lucky I am so charming or that face surely would have scared him away long before we managed to reach an agreement," she quips.

He shrugs before answering, "I don't like when other men covet what is mine."

"He took one of the roulette tables out already. I should have deducted that too," she notes before addressing him with a scowl. "I am not yours - and I'm sure you wouldn't have minded if his attention was actually useful to you instead of just tedious."

Tom smirks, "I'm sure you wouldn't be so keen to argue with my statement if my cock was inside of you again, Cass."

She hides a blush as the events of the previous day come flashing into her mind before turning back to him and rolling her eyes as she says, "Merlin, I don't know what other women have been telling you, but your cock is not magically blessed. It does pretty much what every other man's does, Tom. Nobody is going to suddenly start worshipping you because of it, least of all me, so you can refrain from ever having the word _mine_ come out of your smug mouth when referring to me again."

Tom's hands come up to her waist as he steps forward, pushing her back until she is pressed against the edge of one of the gambling tables. Her chest rises as she takes a deep breath in anticipation of their bodies meeting, but he stops just short of pressing against her. His fingers curl around her skin before he draws his hands away and places them against the table on either side of her. He leans forward, his lips coming to a rest just next to her cheek as he turns his head slightly toward her and whispers in her ear.

"It's not my cock that has that effect on them - on you, Cass. It's me. I could make you worship me even without it. I could make you come undone with just my _smug mouth_."

She forces herself to hold her breathing steady and keep from reacting, no matter how much her fingers itch to reach up and run along his chest. She wonders what he looks like under those formal robes he always wears. She wonders if his alabaster skin gets any warmer or softer closer to his heart or if he is all ice and sharp edges everywhere. She wonders what his eyes had looked like when he'd been fucking her, whether they had been black or red or steely grey, whether they'd been sharp or soft, whether they'd been closed or open.

She licks her lips before forcing a sarcastic response from them, "Right, since its worked so well at wooing me over the last year and change. I'm sure you'll finally convince me today, even though it sounds like you are the one begging right now."

"Let's test the theory with a little game then, Cass," he hisses, pulling away from her slightly only so that he can hold her gaze. "If I can make you orgasm with just my mouth, you will spend the rest of the evening with me. All of it, until the sun comes up again. If I can't help myself and end up doing it with my cock instead, I'll finish sorting the books for you and you can go enjoy your evening elsewhere."

She thinks about his offer for a second, weighing the benefits and risks. On one hand, the books will definitely take hours, if not days, to get through given the questionable accounting practices previously employed in this place. On the other, she has never been particularly turned on by what he is proposing. In her previous observations, men usually only did it briefly to pretend they cared about a women's desires before moving on to satisfy their own, if it all. And, even when they cared to try and it was actually enjoyable, they were rarely talented enough to finish the job. She should not make the mistake of assuming anything about Tom Riddle is normal, but she does.

She is still thinking as they walk on. She decides the best course is to hope something else draws his attention away and he forgets his offer rather than confronting it. There are plenty of more pressing matters to attend to, she remembers as they walk past a few side rooms still a mess from the last weekend's festivities and a dusty storage area crowded with extra furniture. They enter the casino's office, her eyes scanning over the outdated decor, plans to redecorate the whole place in a style more suitable for this century already swimming through her head. Macnair is waiting inside of it for his first orders in his new position as the casino's manager, having just dropped off the bottle of champagne and two glasses Tom had requested earlier.

"Macnair, can you please go inventory the bar supplies? It looks like your very gracious former employer decided to take most of the bottles on the floor home with him. Hopefully he did not raid the supply rooms as well or we will have another mess to deal with before reopening," she instructs with a polite smile toward him.

"You can treat yourself to a drink or two afterward until we find something else that needs doing," Tom adds. He does not wish to be interrupted by any actual work for the rest of the day - or to have her distracted by it as she is now.

"Yes, Ms. Malecrit. Thank you, my lord," Macnair rushes to answer before heading out.

Tom spells the door locked behind him. Cassandra has already taken her place behind the desk, leaning over it as she flips through the supplier list. Tom pops open the bottle and pours them each a glass before walking over to her and taking her hips in his hands. He twists her around to face him, her usual resistance lacking as she was too focused on the papers to see him coming.

"I was just - " she protests with a pout. Tom magics all the papers on the table into a single pile and the champagne glasses over to him. They float in the air, waiting to be grabbed.

"That can wait. Let us celebrate first," he admonishes. He hands her one glass and takes the other. He lifts her and places her on the desk. This will be a fitting way to christen it, he thinks. He pushes himself between her legs and leans forward to hiss, "To our partnership, Cass."

She raises an eyebrow at the term, "And what is my role in this _partnership_? You know, now that I have been officially inducted into it and all."

They both know she is not talking about the casino - her role there is already clear enough from their conversations. She is talking about the club, as she likes to call it. It is clear he is not going to let her be just any ordinary member, and she wants to have something to say to dispel people's assumptions. She wants him to ensure her people's assumptions aren't correct. That this is not all he wants from her, and everything else is not purely an excuse to get it - though she is sure it at least partially is.

The words drip from his lips like honey, his eyes locked on hers as he says them, "My counselor."

She scowls and looks away, "So they get to be knights and I get to be a pretty trophy on your arm. What's wrong Tom, you don't like women who can fight?"

"I _very_ much like women who can fight, Cassandra," he says, a wicked smirk on his face conveying his meaning. "But people like us don't really have to do our own fighting - and while I still find your mind more valuable, I do need you to retain a body to hold it in. Not to mention I like that as well, for more personal reasons."

"As long as you don't flaunt those personal reasons in public, I accept the position," she says, raising her glass and tapping it against his. He takes only a sip, putting his own glass down immediately afterward while looking down at her and smirking as she finishes hers.

"Undress for me, Cassandra," he orders. "I don't want to give you an excuse to accuse me of cheating by touching you."

There is really no benefit in resisting him, she reminds herself. The more she does, the more he will feel compelled to act out. Better to get this out of their systems now so they can focus on business sooner, since it has become abundantly clear that he will not give up. She pushes down the thought that she does not really want him to anyway and just looks back at him imperiously while reaching below her skirt and rolling down her panties.

She smirks as she drops them to the floor, "That should do, I assume?"

He answers with a matching smirk. He makes a show of putting his hands behind his back before leaning over to kiss her. She is stiff at first, resisting the downward movement of his lips. When she does not cooperate, he just bites down on the hallow between her neck and shoulder, drawing a yelp from her.

"Give in, Cass, or I will draw blood next time," he threatens.

"Just try," she challenges. He can feel the thrill of her heartbeat under his lips.

He takes her up on it, bitting into her shoulder, guessing that - consciously or not - she chose an outfit that left them exposed for a reason. She jumps up into him as his teeth break the skin just a little. His tongue laps up the drops of blood that result, prompting her to throw her head back and whimper.

He draws away after a few more seconds to warn, "Play along, my little harpy, or I'll do that again and won't let you heal them before we go out to dinner."

She rolls her eyes at the fact that he's already assumed victory - even though she arches her neck back for him at the same time - and scolds, "You really need a lesson in humility, Tom."

"Humility is for mere mortals, not us," he hisses against her skin, continuing to move downward, stopping only to mutter a spell that rips her blouse in half.

"Cheating already," she teases with a small laugh.

"The spell came from my mouth, didn't it?" he responds. "Hitch up your skirt or I will tear it to shreds and you won't have anything to wear to dinner."

"Merlin, you are such a bas - "

"No jokes about that, Cassandra," he says seriously, looking up to meet her eyes.

"Sorry," she mutters, a slight blush on her cheeks at the mistake. She swears there is a touch of hurt in his eyes, and she finds it more than a little off-putting. All she has ever seen in them before is anger and amusement. She takes his face in her hands and guides it up to kiss him before her hands move down to follow his instruction.

"Show me you're sorry, Cass. Open those lovely legs for me," he whispers against her mouth. If she is going to pity him, he might as well take advantage of it to get what he wants. He kisses her again, pulling her lower lip between her teeth. She whimpers into his mouth and fulfills his request. "Wider, my little harpy - and do try to keep them that way."

She watches as he lowers himself to his knees between them. The second she feels his breath on her, her eyes widen and she nearly bucks her hips. He chuckles at her reaction and takes a second to take her in, his expression so intense it only heightens her embarrassment even more. Fuck, the things he does to her. How had she apparently temporarily forgotten about his ability to make her sopping wet with just his words when she had been stupid enough not to outright refuse to play his little game?

Finally, she feels his tongue traverse her and cannot hold back a moan, no matter how smug he looks about it. Before she knows it, she has lost herself in it, and all of her focus is on his head between her legs. She feels like she is losing her mind as every rational thought she has dies in her head before it can even form. She feels like she is floating free of her body as her muscles shiver and quake against her will. She feels entirely overwhelmed and out of control. She wouldn't have been able to help closing her legs a long time ago if it wasn't for her certainty that if she defied his order, he would just respond by tying her in this position for the rest of the evening. No one has been able to do _this_ to her before, not even… well, she rarely thinks about him these days.

Tom seems to sense her mind is dangerously close to drifting elsewhere, because he pulls away only to bite at the inside of her thigh. He commands, "Focus on me, my little harpy."

Her eyes drift back down to meet his. He hisses, "Do you like this, Cass?"

Her cheeks are flushed and her breathing heavy, giving the answer away already, so she admits, "Yes."

Tom kisses the spot he just marked, the gentle motions of his lips and the sweep of his cold tongue against it soothing the throbbing pain he had caused but only increasing the throbbing inside of her. He hisses again, "Do you like me?"

An image of the snake on her skin flashes in her mind and she answers reflexively, "No."

She nearly yelps when he stands suddenly. She probably would have if the breath wasn't knocked out of her by a magical force pushing her chest back against the table. She tries to struggle, quickly mouthing half a dozen counter curses that should be able to release her before realizing that this is no spell.

It's just him, just raw might pulsing out from him intuitively, pure magic thick enough to suffocate her if she keeps struggling against it - especially since her own magic is refusing to cooperate to push herself free from it, and she knows exactly why. She does not want to be free. She wants him to make her feel things she never has before. She wants to make him feel things he never has before. He is the most powerful wizard she has ever met and she wants to make him shatter above her like a supernova.

She manages to release her arms, using the right one to reach out and grab his tie. She pulls him down against her, her left hand tangling into his hair and bringing his lips to hers. Her fingers work through the knot in the silk, pulling it loose and out of the way before they trail down the center of his shirt, magic pulsing through them causing the buttons to pop completely free and clink against the desk. If he is going to make a habit of stealing or destroying her clothes, she's going to mar at least one of his immaculately white dress shirts in return.

He pulls his lips away from hers to groan as her hand meets bare skin. The warmth of her touch seems to make the blood in his veins feel more noticeable, especially the fact that it is all rushing toward one specific part of him which is already painfully hard. His eyes slip close as he grimaces. She scans his expression before moving her eyes down his body. Merlin, it's nice to see him looking disheveled for once.

His heart is just as cold as the rest of him, she discovers. Her fingers trail over a series of criss-crossed scars on top of it, her eyes flashing back up to his, eyebrows furled in confusion. He just leans down and kisses her again, his tongue darting into her mouth, the taste of her blood and her arousal mixing with the taste of her that he constantly craves. Keeping his hands behind his back is a struggle when he wants so badly to taste, touch, and memorize every inch of her.

She tugs on his hair to pull him back up so she can look into his eyes and whisper against his mouth, "I want your cock, Tom."

He smirks, "You have known me long enough to know I will not give up so easily, Cass."

His lips start to descend down her body again, softly gliding over her neck. Her hands slip to his shoulders instead, shoving the fabric of his shirt aside to grip the hard flesh underneath before sliding along his back. Another set of scars awaits her there, older and half-faded, sunken in to the slender muscles, more distributed. She senses him tense and pulls back, resting her arms on the desk again and letting him retake control.

His mouth finds her breasts, teeth tugging harshly on them before he looks up to meet her eyes again and admonishes, "You do like me. Don't lie again, Cass."

She does not protest his statement for fear he will only prolong this torturous waiting if she does. He can think whatever he wants, she knows how she feels.

His lips return to her skin, leaving marks all over her breasts until she is a whimpering mess underneath him, nearly crying at every touch. When he can smell her desperation in the air, he lifts his mouth to kiss her again.

"Tom," she mumbles. "I can't wait anymore."

"Tell me what you want, Cassandra," he hisses.

"Your cock," she tries, tone as seductive as she can make it.

" _My_ cock?" he asks, an eyebrow raised.

"Yes."

"That's not what I want to hear, Cass."

"For Merlin's sake, just fuck me," she whines, reaching down to run a hand over the bulge in his pants. He presses against it instinctively, his lips parting to let a slithering sound escape. Before she can proceed further, he pulls away and drops down again, licking up the new wetness between her legs. She cries out. She draws in a shaky breath and sits up again. Her hands grip the edge of the table as he keeps going, knuckles white from trying to hold back.

"Fuck… Tom… please," she whimpers, hoping he will be so tempted he will give in first.

"Come for me, my little harpy. Unless you'd rather we keep at this all night."

She does not know how much time has passed, but it feels like he's already been at this for hours, and his stamina does not seem to have suffered in the slightest. In fact, he seems determined not to stop until she gives in or literally passes out. She feels close to it. The world is spinning and her head is light, the sensations running through her so overwhelming that she can no longer separate them in her mind, the only things registering in her thoughts his touch, his smell, his voice.

"I want you, Tom," she gasps, giving him what she knows he has really wanted all along in hopes of breaking his resolve and rescuing her chances of winning this game. She thinks these are the magic words he is waiting for, the permission he needs to give in to his own desires.

Her efforts are futile. Tom Riddle does not lose, especially not when he sets up the rules of the game. His lips just descend on her again, his tongue lapping in the perfect motion to make her drop her head and lean back against her arms, a series of whimpers and pleas flowing from her lips. He ignores them and heightens his assault until he draws a scream from her as he pushes her over the edge and sucks her up. He has never tasted anything so perfectly sweet before.

He smirks and stands up, pulling her chin forward to get her to look at him now that he can use his hands again, "I know, my little harpy."

She narrows her eyes and mutters, "You are evil."

"And you are having dinner with me," he says, pulling her down from the desk. "Why don't you write a letter to let him know while I finish up?"

She knows he is not really giving her a choice, just gloating. She wonders briefly how he knew she had plans with Cain tonight, but figures she should not be surprised. It seems like he knows everything. He pulls the parchment and a quill in front of her before turning her around.

His right hand grips her hips, pulling her back and angling them as his other hand undoes his belt buckle and zipper. He lines himself up with her, tensing himself and resisting the urge to finish as soon as he brushes against her. She looks back at him expectantly, an eyebrow raised to signal her impatience. He just leans forward and captures her lips, a bruising kiss that leaves their lips swollen and their lungs short of breath.

"You're mine," he hisses in her ear as he sinks into her, filing her completely. His arm wraps around her, molding her body back against his. His other hand comes up against the side of the desk to provide him with leverage. He stays there for a moment, feeling her grip around him tighten, before starting to rock his hips back and forth. He orders breathlessly, "Write."

She lifts the quill. Her hand shakes and she keeps the note short.

_Have business matters to attend to. Can't make dinner. Will see you later._

She drops the quill again, hands pressing against the table to try to steady herself, to try to push back against him in hopes of getting more than he is giving her right now. He is so close, but he resists the urge to go any faster for fear of tipping over the edge too early.

Tom peaks over her shoulder at the paper before letting his head sink down against it, lips peppering tiny bites across the only as-yet unmarred flesh easily accessible to them at the moment. He is determined to mark every part of her as his - even though he knows she will just spell it all away before anyone else can see. Maybe if he leaves enough she will forget one. Maybe he can leave a mark deep enough that it cannot be magicked away.

"Cross off the last part," Tom orders while keeping a steady pace inside of her. She shakes her head. He speeds up, drawing a whimper from her before saying, "Do you want me to stop?"

She picks up the quill and scribbles the last sentence out before snarling, "Satisfied?"

He lifts his head from her shoulder to whisper in her ear, "Almost. Good girl."

She bites her lip. He licks his as he feels her clench around him at the words. He chuckles and teases, "Do you like being my good girl, Cassandra?"

"I am not yours," she growls.

"Tell me, Cass, who do you think about when you are alone? When you lie in bed? When you dream? It's me, isn't it? You could never be satisfied by someone like him."

"Shut the fuck up and fuck me," she growls, trying to push her hips back against his more quickly, more deeply, more forcefully.

He chuckles again. His grip on her tightens, preventing her from taking control. His other hand comes up to grab her chin, pulling her face to the side so she has to look at him, "Admit it."

She surprises him by leaning forward to kiss him. Her hand reaches back to grip his thigh, pulling her into him. Her other comes up to meet his hand wrapped around her and intwine their fingers together, pushing her back at the same time. The sudden immersion causes him to lose control, twitching inside of her. A series of quick, shallow thrusts sends them both over the edge, quivering around each other as he deepens their kiss.

She pulls away first, nearly panting as she leans back against the table in front of her and tries to pull forward away from him. He resists, his fingers squeezing hers together to keep hold of her hand. He does not want this to end so soon. He wants this to last forever. Instead, he settles for just a minute more before he pulls free of her and moves to clean himself up.

She spells her blouse back together and fixes the rest of her outfit before moving to walk to the mirror above the fireplace along the back wall so she can see the damage he has done and spell it away. He pulls her back onto his lap in the chair before she can take more than a single step. Of course she should have known better than to think Tom Riddle would ever be satisfied.

"Call Macnair in and have him deliver it."

"Are you actually insane? He's going to tell -"

"No, he won't. Not unless I tell him to, Cass," he says. When she just pulls away from him, he teases, "What's wrong? You don't want them to know how close you are to their lord?"

"I already told you what would happen if you told," she warns.

Tom just rolls his eyes before shouting out, "Macnair."

She snatches the letter from the table and quickly folds it while rushing for the door. Tom's arm flits out, grabbing her wrist and pulling her back into his lap. His nimble fingers slip the letter out of her hand and into his as the other arm snakes around her, holding her down.

When he comes in a minute later, Macnair stops awkwardly at the door for a few seconds, eyes wide as he takes in the scene, before bowing and saying, "My lord."

Tom holds out the letter, "Take this to Rosier. Make sure you give it to him in person."

She sees Macnair's eyes lingering on her as he moves closer to pick it up, no doubt noting the marks on her skin. He just nods and says, "Yes, my lord."

They both wait until the door closes behind him to spring into action again. She moves to free herself. He pulls her hair to bring the back of her neck to his lips while his other hand slides between her legs. She grinds into it, still hot and bothered from their earlier activities.

Despite her obvious enjoyment, she sneers, "You are insufferable."

He chuckles, "It isn't as if he didn't already hear you yelling my name. I want to watch you orgasm for me at least twice more and then take you again before dinner, my little harpy."

She is already so sensitive that it nearly hurts - though his fingers are also just cold enough to feel soothing, a dichotomy her brain cannot grapple with. She shakes her head as she bites her lip, holding back another whimper, "Too much."

He has always been too much for her. And yet, it never seems to be enough. She really is just as impossible to satisfy as Tom is.

"It's not. I know what you are capable of, Cassandra."

Tom thinks he has won. He has everything he needs to move to the next stage of his plans, and everything he wants. The casino. Her. This weekend is going to be a celebration. A chance to relax. A chance to enjoy this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in my usual posting schedule! Had a mini-break from technology this weekend and was having a super hard time finalizing what direction to take this chapter in... actually, I just ended up splitting it in half since it was getting long anyway so now I just have to struggle over the next chapter instead. It is already written so I should still be able to post it on Sunday as usual, just deciding whether to cut some parts or not right now.
> 
> That said, your comments on this chapter, specifically what you think of the Tom/Cass relationship now and how those two characters are feeling, would be really helpful in my finishing the next chapter so please do leave one :)


	22. Best-Laid Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But Cassandra already has a weakness, and it is not him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kill of the Night by Gin Wigmore

He insists on being the one to apparate them to dinner, and when they arrive she immediately realizes why. He has taken her to the same restaurant she and Cain were supposed to be dining at tonight. A favorite of the pureblood upper class, a considerable segment of which is certain to be inside on a Saturday night.

“Fuck you,” she mumbles under her breath as they walk up the steps to the door.

“Again?” he answers nonchalantly.

She does not say anything else while he checks them in or as he takes her arm and walks them toward the table, sure that whatever she snipes at him will be returned by an inappropriate comment at an inappropriate volume. Already, she has caught the eye of Nott - with some date she does not recognize hanging off his arm - sitting at a table near the entrance. She hears a suspicious cough beside them as they are walking and turns her head to see Lestrange staring pointedly at Tom’s arm around her.

Drinks are already on the table when they arrive. A glass of red wine for him and a gin and tonic for her. Cassandra picks hers up as soon as she sits, taking a large sip and praying it will be enough to dull the feeling of eyes on them. They are seated in a semicircle booth, and Tom is quick to place himself much too close to her and wrap his arm around her again as he sits.

What the hell was she thinking agreeing to this? The gossip about it is sure to be on everybody’s tongue by Monday, and it is not nearly as easy to conjure an excuse about being seen with Tom like this in public as it is for the way he behaves at private parties. The rest of the drink disappears down her throat in a matter of seconds. A waiter comes up to them with menus and another drink for her. Tom rattles off orders for both of them and waves him off.

Cassandra tries to fill the silence between them, “I am meeting with the liquor distrib…”

He cuts her off, nose brushing against her cheek as he hisses, “We did not come here to talk business, Cass.”

“I agreed to go to dinner with you, not what topics to discuss during it,” she fires back, pulling her face away as far as she can manage and taking another drink.

“We can reserve such topics for our regular meetings. I would like tonight to be different, Cassandra,” he says.

After she does not answer for a few seconds, he tries to start their conversation. It takes him a few seconds to think of something to say. He hasn’t exactly done this much, not really. Not counting the ones he’d only taken out as part of a ploy, not ever.

“What’s your favorite kind of magic?”

“Now that is a question I have never been asked,” she says with a laugh, too taken abackto watch her words, especially with the alcohol slamming into her. Maybe downing two strong drinks in the span of ten minutes was not such a good idea. “I am sure everybody just assumes it is the secret murder kind.”

Well, that is _his_ favorite kind, he thinks. He tilts his head at her, signaling he is still waiting for a real answer. She looks away as she says, “It’s… I can’t say really.”

He chuckles, “You think _I_ am going to judge you, Cass?”

Her tongue flits between her teeth, weighing the situation before she decides to answer.

“Blood magic,” she says truthfully. “It’s powerful, and old, and hard to break.”

“And mostly illegal,” he says, raising an eyebrow. He wants to kiss her but he knows she wouldn’t allow it. Just the two of them being here together is already scandalous enough.

“ _Mostly_ ,” she agrees, a smirk on her face. “Yours?”

“Legilimency. Not surprised?”

“It’s not nice to play with people, Tom.”

“Yes, but it is fun, isn’t it?” he says, leaning in toward her again.

“We could probably have this entire conversation in our heads,” she jokes.

His fingers play with her hair and she can feel his breath on her cheek as he whispers, “But then we’d deprive everybody of their ability to speculate about what we are discussing, and where would the fun be in that?”

Her eyes narrow, a warning that he is pushing too far. He pulls away and the waiter takes it as a sign it is finally safe to deliver their food. She looks around and sees Lestrange still watching them, no doubt already crafting another letter in his head. Perhaps he will be wise enough not to actually send it this time. Perhaps he will think she will be kind enough not to tell Tom about it this time. She turns back to Tom as they start eating and scrambles for something to keep him occupied so he does not act out again.

“Did you read the article on unassisted flight in -”

“I did. The ramblings of an amateur, it seemed. To think that something so simple wouldn’t have been tried and tested earlier -”

“Simple? Have _you_ tried slowing down on any of your apparitions? If anyone was able to execute it, I am sure it would work. It makes sense, theoretically. Apparition cannot defy the laws of matter. It cannot be that the world is shrinking, or that one is atomizing in one place and re-atomizing in another. It’s just movement through space, like everything else. Incredibly, imperceptibly quick movement. Thus, if one was able to perceive it, then one may be able to control it, and at least approximate the experience of flight.”

“Yes, theoretically perhaps it makes sense. Perhaps it is merely that no one that has attempted has ever been powerful enough to control their apparition to such an extent. Or perhaps it is simply uncontrollable, and that is the reason no wizard has succeeded before.”

“But you think you are the best, strongest wizard that has ever lived, don’t you? Don’t you at least want to try? To see if you could?”

“Apparition is already risky enough. I am not going to go experimenting with it and get splinched in half just to disprove some scholar’s theories.”

“I could do it, if I wanted to.”

“For everyone’s sake, please don’t try. I’m sure the people who your body parts appeared in front of all throughout Europe would be scared for life.”

“Well, at least there would finally be another reason for my fame,” she quips.

He laughs. The sound is so shocking that she freezes, her glass hovering in the air as she stares at him. He has never laughed in front of her before, not like that - no condescension to it, no irony, bright and carefree and unaffected.

He puts down his own glass and raises his now-free hand to tuck a loose hair back behind her ear, fingers lingering across her face. Her eyes are wide, her surprised expression practically screaming _not here_. He leans forward, his lips brushing against her skin as he whispers in her ear, “Just once, my little harpy. You can give me that, can’t you?”

Everything else fades at the tone of his voice and the insistence in his eyes. When he looks at her like that she feels like the center of the universe. She feels like she could do anything, be anything, say anything and that look would still not disappear. Like he is not the slightest bit scared of the truth of who she is, like everyone else has been.

His lips sweep over her cheek and his fingers maneuver her mouth to his, gripping her jaw hard while pulling her in for a kiss that is nothing but soft. The suddenness of the contact and the contrast of the two gestures has her moving her mouth against his without even thinking about it first. All she can think about is how smooth his lips are and how he tastes like the red wine he is drinking. The fine Burgundian kind that is all oak and strawberries with hints of vanilla and mint, nuanced and layered yet undeniably delicious. All their previous kisses had been a contest, a race to the sack. This one is different, a give and take that feels more likesurrender than possession.

His lips leave hers and the clink of silverware and muffled conversation comes back to her. She looks to the side and tries to pull away. When he does not let go of her jaw, she hisses, “People are watching, Tom.”

“Don’t worry, they’ll pretend they weren’t,” he says with a smirk before dropping away.

She sincerely hopes he is correct, because they have moved from hard to explain to unexplainable. Cain will take it in stride, she knows - but she would rather not make him have to.

They go on debating various other new theories throughout the meal, sitting and arguing for nearly an hour about subjects ranging from transfiguration to herbology - which it turns out is the least favorite subject of both of them, neither having ever cared enough for other living things to bother themselves about keeping them alive except when useful to do so.

The owner comes over to check on them at the end of their meal, and Tom’s smile and charm is in full force. It is a wonder, really, watching how he plays with other people. All politeness and praise, but never quite kindness or approval. Just enough to make them like him. Just enough to remind them he is superior.

Tom offers a hand to help her up from the table, pulling too hard at the last minute and sending her crashing into him. He reaches to steady her, his other hand landing too far down her back for it to be accidental. She just raises an eyebrow at him, smirking. A warning which he promptly ignores by squeezing her hip anyway, drawing a glare.

They walk out and Tom leads them around the block. She does not protest. She is enjoying the crisp night air. He leans against the wall of a nearby alleyway, pulling out a cigarette and placing it to his lips, eyes still constantly watching her as she looks up at the sky.

“I hate London. There are not nearly enough stars here,” she mutters under her breath.

“So your place then?” Tom asks, knowing she is avoiding the topic. Regardless, she did make a bet, and now it is time to pay up.

She looks at him again and he sees the _no_ written on her face, sees just how much she doesn’t want him there. She just says, “I have to go back to the casino to check if Macnair found the older books, since things don’t quite add up with the current one.”

“And then?”

“We can stay there.”

“As enjoyable as fucking you over desks has been, I think a change of scenery would inject a little more excitement into our evening, Cass.”

“There’s rooms upstairs. A dozen or so. Already had them made up and was planning on inspecting them in the morning anyway. You can have your pick of scenery. Hell, we can try more than one if you’re feeling adventurous. It’s not far if you want to walk,” she offers.

He knows what she’s talking about. The rooms upstairs reserved for special guests and their mistresses and whores. For transitory trysts and paid-by-the-hour pleasures. It’s not the same as what she promised him and she knows it - but it is technically all she promised him and he knows it. He just nods. They walk in silence for a few minutes before she speaks up again.

“Do you like London?”

“No.”

“Then why do you live here?”

“There are parts of London I like. As a whole, though, most of it is awful.”

“Where’s the part you don’t like most?” she asks, knowing she is pushing into territory he does not like to discuss and he may not respond. It is clear the parts he likes are the wizarding parts, and she can guess the part he doesn’t like most is the part he grew up in.

“Vauxhall,” he answers flatly.

“Do you ever think what would have happened if you weren’t…” she trails off, leaving the question hanging in the air.

“Do you?” he snaps. “Or do you just assume that’s something that must cross the mind of those of us who did not have the luxury of growing up in pureblood high society?”

“Life is not a suffering contest, but if it was I would hardly say my upbringing was any more luxurious than yours, Tom.”

“Right, you had magical parents, but I had an alcoholic orphanage matron who thought I was possessed by the devil. Whose to say which one of those is better?” he spits out sarcastically.

She connects the dots to the scars on his back and nearly flinches imagining the punishments muggles would have thought appropriate for such a condition. If he’d gotten them as a child, that would explain why he hadn’t been able to heal them away - they would have already been too old, too ingrained in his skin by the time he learned the magic to do so.

“It must have been awful to be so underestimated. Clearly, you _are_ the devil, not merely possessed by him,” she jokes before rolling her eyes. “Muggles will come up with all sorts of ways to vilify what they don’t understand.”

He drops his cigarette and puts an arm around her instead., “I probably would have been blown up on a field somewhere in Europe.”

“And I probably would have been dead before that,” she responds, letting herself lean into him. He can guess what she means and suddenly feels a wrench in his gut at the fact he had assumed _having_ magical parents was always better than not having them at all. She is still smiling anyway as she quips, “Thank Merlin for magic, right?”

“Don’t underestimate yourself, Cassandra. Plenty of people have magic, but few of them are able to use it the way you can. A weaker witch would have led a much less interesting life.”

“Interesting, hmm? I like that word for it. _Interesting_. That’s exactly how I would sum you up too, Tom,” she says, a slight smile appearing on her lips. They reach the darkened doorway and she mumbles the phrase she’d spelled to unlock it since she’d already told Macnair to leave for the night on their way out.

Tom lingers behind, muttering protection spells at the threshold, while she wanders over to the office to see if the books are waiting for her to take home in the morning. They are, but so is something else she didn’t expect to be leaning against the desk.

“Sorry to startle you, Cass. Macnair let me in on his way out and said you’d be back soon. I just wanted to check if you needed any help with…” Cain starts, halting as Tom walks up behind her. “I can see that’s already taken care of. My mistake.”

She ignores the staring contest going on between the two of them, walking over to her desk and pulling forward the thick stack of ledgers and receipts to check the dates on them. When Tom refuses to offer an explanation, she does instead.

“Yes, Tom was just helping resolve some discrepancies in the accounts and we stepped out for dinner while Macnair found the rest of the records for us, as you can see,” she answers, face still tilted toward the books. “I think we have a handle on things.”

She knows Cain can read her just as easily as she can read him, especially after that many drinks. In case he can’t, she is sure the scent of the gin and the smell of Tom’s soap is already radiating off of her, revealing how thin her excuse is.

“Apologies for keeping her late, Cain,” Tom chimes in. “You know how Bagman is. He’d rather keep up appearances than keep up with his debts. Lot of work to do to sort everything out, unless she wants to reopen to half of the wizards in Britain claiming they’re owed something.”

Tom’s wide smile screams _Of course I’m telling the truth. I wouldn’t dare fuck your girlfriend, would I?_ A question both of them know the answer to is yes, he definitely would. Though Cain’s smug expression as he leans toward her indicates that he still thinks he hasn’t.

“I understand, Tom. Business is business,” Cain answers amiably. She looks up at him finally and he pecks her on the lips, “I’ll see you at home later, Cinderella?”

“This is going to take a while to finish, Cain. I don’t want to keep you up.”

His smile falters for barely a second before it is back and his voice is sweeter than ever, “Never a problem, Cass. But I don’t want to impose if you have things to take care of. Tomorrow?”

“Of course. I’ll owl you,” she responds with her own smile before giving him a short kiss in return. Tom lingers in the doorway, forcing Cain to go past him on his way out. He waits until he hears the front door close again before approaching her, bending over her as she continues to lean over the desk looking at the papers.

“ _Cinderella_ ,” Tom mocks with a chuckle, his breath in her ear. Her fingers tense against the edge of the table and he retreats, leaning against the wall behind her instead. “How… charming.”

She does not raise her head to respond, “It’s an inside joke.”

“That you hate.”

“Hate is a strong word.”

“I thought you were going to slap him when he said it.”

“He likes it.”

“He likes pretending he is taking care of you. And you like letting him think he is.”

“Please, do tell me more about your psychological analysis of our relationship. I’m sure you would make an amazing couples therapist.”

“At the very least, I thought you were going to slap him when he said home, with the way you cringed. Sadly, you seem to lose all your fire around him, little harpy. No wonder you were so bored that you basically begged for me to show you what it is like to be with a real wizard.”

“You were imagining that.”

“No, I wasn’t. It’s not your home, is it?”

She turns to him, an eyebrow raised, “Neither is this, is it?”

Tom chuckles, “If you don’t trust him as much as you don’t trust me, than I think perhaps a couples therapist _is_ in order.”

She answers his accusation with a scowl on her face, “That is not what I meant. I do trust him. You, on the other hand…”

“You think Cain Rosier is any better than me? We are both bad men, Cassandra. Just bad men of different kinds. You fault me for using my brain to get what I want from you and everyone else, just like everyone faults you for using your looks. But men like him who inherited everything - nobody cares how they keep it, do they? Because its theirs, their legacy. They have a right to it, a right to their place in the world, while people like me and you have to earn and constantly justify ours.”

“Don’t compare. There is none. Cain is the most trustworthy person I have ever known. He would never hurt me.”

“You do know how you ended up in our little arrangement, don’t you? Surely, you are smart enough to have realized by now that his invitation to reunite was not extended of his own accord. And yet, you haven’t held it against him like you do me for more than a minute, have you? You trust him after he practically delivered you into my arms, knowing I could hurt you.”  
“He didn’t have a choice. You would have…”

“He had a choice, Cassandra. He could have refused. Instead, he brought you to me, over and over again, every time I asked, no matter what I did.”

“And what would you have done if he didn’t, Tom? Just moved on?”

He does not take her bait, refuses to get angry or try to defend the things he has done. The story of how they got here is not exactly a fairytale, he knows. What matters is that they are here, and he is never going to let them go back again. So he tries to get her to focus on the future, not argue about the past.

“There is nothing I would have done to him that even approaches what I would do now if he - or anyone else - should ever hurt you again.”

“That is not what I asked, and I don’t need _you_ to protect me considering the only person I need protection from _is_ you.”

“Well clearly he’s not capable of providing it, or fulfilling any of your other needs,” Tom fires back, still avoiding her question. “You need _me_ , Cassandra.”

It is his eyes that convince her he has no intention of letting her keep Cain, not really. The way they burn into her skin, the stubborn hardness of his gaze. It is not just that he wants to be first. It is that he wants to be _only_. Yet again, she’d underestimated Tom and how ferocious his appetite is. She had thought she had enough self-control to control him, a mistake she has been making since just about the day they met.

“Remember our deal, Tom,” she warns with a false smile.

What does she think this is, selling off a piece of herself for peace from him? His fingers flex in his eagerness to throw her on the desk again and make her admit this is not a commercial transaction. That her decision to let him have her is more than just a rational bargain. That she is here not because she cares about his safety, but because what she says when they are alone together is true.

“I thought we had moved past that, _my_ little harpy,” he hisses, stepping closer to her.

“We will move past that when I am sure you aren’t planning on hurting him or worse the second you think you can get away with it,” she answers, crossing her arms in front of her to show just how stubborn she is. It is a promise she knows he will never be able to rise to making her keep.

Tom wants to laugh. He wants to say Cass, that is not all I am doing and not all I will do.

What he is doing is trying to drive Cain crazy, or at least into people thinking he is. Simple little suggestions. A shadow on the street. Gone when he looks again. The air shifting in his bedroom. A muffled sound, barely anything at all. Lights turned on and no one else there. Waking up to things in different places. Being sure he’d put her nightgown in the closet and then finding it on the floor. Books open to lines he didn’t remember reaching yet. At some point, Tom had even shifted the furniture in his sitting room by a few inches. He is sure Cain suspects him of all of these things, but he is also sure there is a part of Cain that thinks he is just imagining it out of his fear of him, and he is going to play on that part until Cain falls apart.

Instead, he just smiles and closes the distance between them, pulling her arms down so he can wrap his around her. She purses her lips and turns her head to the side, lips pursed. She would probably push him away if he hadn’t taken her hands with his, locking them in his grasp behind her back.

“Look at me, Cass,” he whispers, forcing his expression to soften to give off the impression of vulnerability. She does meet his gaze, her eyes still narrowed and on fire despite the apparent calm on his face. “Would you really leave me now? With everything we are building together? With everything we can be together?”

“Make no mistake, Tom, I would. It has never been you keeping me here,” she says, her voice steel and her face set in stone. “If any harm should befall Cain - a scrape, a cold, even a bad dream - I will assume it was by your hand or your order, and whatever is between us will cool instantly.”

He is tempted to tie her down right there and remind her _who_ she belongs to, who makes her whimper and beg, who she wants - but he knows she would do far more than try to push away if he did that. It takes all of his self-control to keep a smile on his face and not call out her words for what they are. Lies. Aspirational ideals she has never been able to keep. Ways she wishes she felt but does not really.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Cassandra. Why would I hurt him when I already have you?”

His tone is so soothing she almost believes he is sincere, almost begins to doubt her earlier assessment of the situation. If he really wanted to separate her from Cain, why would he have lied so convincingly to him earlier? He could have easily said something more revealing - or nothing at all - and left the obvious explanation hanging in the air. He could have easily ordered Cain to break up with her sooner, could have made up countless excuses for Cain to give from her refusal to ever answer his proposals to her already too busy work schedule.

Except, of course, he would have known she never would have believed them. He knew that if Cain left her, the string he had her hanging on could snap and he could lose control. He knew that he would need to convince her he did not already know that for her to believe him, so that when the string was cut she could just fall into his arms thinking he was blameless.

“The fact that you had that defense ready on the tip of your tongue proves my point. Is it any wonder that I don’t trust you?”

He steps away, his jaw twitching as he glares down at her. He did not expect this strategy to fail so spectacularly, or so early. He had needed more time to reel her in before deploying it. Needed to have her more used to the idea of them. Needed to have her spending less time with him. Yet again, Cain had ruined his plans.

If she does not leave now, he knows he will not let her leave again. It would be so easy to hold her jaw open, tilt her head back, and force the amortentia he has been carrying around in his robe pocket since their visit to the potions lab down her throat. To hold his hand over her mouth and make her swallow. An automatic victory, almost. He would be all she could think about. She would be helpless to disobey him.

But it wouldn’t be real. It wouldn’t be _her_. Just a shell, no thought, no feeling. And, of course, there was always the danger that it would wear off or she would build up an immunity, and what would she think of him then? How far would she go to escape him then?

He lets his anger flare as he hisses, “If you are going to keep berating me, perhaps you should go back to your perfect little prince - since you can’t seem to find any fault in anything he’s ever done.”

Her eyes widen. He can see she is hiding a smile. Hiding her relief. Despite this, she says, “We made a deal. I don’t want you to use this as an excuse to hurt -”

“Go, Cassandra,” he orders through gritted teeth. “I’ve never spent the night in a prostitute’s bed, and I would rather not now. Go _home_.”

She looks at him, the puckering of her mouth and flaring of her nostrils making it clear she is about to spit something back. A few seconds pass before she shakes her head and bites her lip, apparently deciding better than to scratch at his sensitivities just like he had at hers. She picks up the red cloak she had discarded on one of the armchairs upon her arrival that afternoon and throws it over her arms before going for the door.

Tom waits until he hears the front door shut before clicking his fingers to spell the fireplace at the end of the room lit, turning off the rest of the lights, and sinking into her chair, his head in his hands.

He’d almost forgotten. For the moments between leaving for dinner and arriving at the office door again, his mind had been clear of Cain and the knights and every fucking thing but her. He’d felt… normal. Normal wasn’t really the right word. It wasn’t normal for him, but he imagined that’s how ordinary people acted. Ordinary couples.

They aren’t ordinary, and when he’d seen Cain waiting for her he’d remembered they sure as hell aren’t a couple. No, when he’d heard her lie he’d remembered they sure as hell aren’t a couple. When he’d seen how she looked at Cain and how she looked at him, practically begging him to convince him for her. When she’d just smiled at Cain despite the fact that if Tom ever treated her the same way - like a fragile little princess - she’d probably curse him halfway to hell for it.

Was he naive to think things would be different now? That she would realize he was the right one for her instead of that pretentious prat once she gave in to her desires, once she experienced what they could be like together? Without him, without the arguments, without the ruses she worked so hard to keep up? That what she said - what she did - was real instead of just a calculated effort to keep the only person she really cared about safe? That what was between them was more than just a deal by now?

The evening had given him a crystal clear look into her mind, and he did not like what he had found. As much as he tries to convince himself Cain is only a tool to her, he has seen them together enough to know that is not the whole truth. She still wants Cain. Still cares about him. Still prefers him. And she always will - no matter what he has done, no matter what Tom does.

Tom looks up only to see a present wrapped in red and silver on her desk. He doesn’t bother to open it and see what Cain had gotten her to celebrate her new venture. No doubt something obscenely expensive and completely unnecessary. He just lifts it up and tosses it into the fire, watching it burn, imagining lighting Cain’s townhouse on fire.

He just isn’t sure whether he wants to do it with or without her in it.

Cain though - definitely inside, preferably already dead.

He will make her his, no matter what it is she wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story will be on hiatus until mid-August. Other things in my life need my attention more urgently and, honestly, I am feeling burnt out and uninspired when trying to write at the moment. Hopefully, stepping away will give me time to organize my ideas so that writing the rest of the story comes as easily as writing up to this point did. My goal is to start posting again around August 15. 
> 
> I will keep checking back here, on FFN (phoenixspuzzle), and on tumblr (hogwartsmeangirls) and would love to interact with anybody about the story, fandom, or life in general. Also, if you are looking for something else to read in the meantime, my older Tom Riddle/OC stories are on FFN. 
> 
> To everyone that has read this far, thank you for supporting my work! I hope you have enjoyed the story.


	23. Old Dog, New Tricks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Love by Air Traffic Controller

Tom spends a great deal of time staring at that fire, thinking about his options. Simply getting rid of Cain - through compulsion, murder, or other means - will not work for two reasons.

First, as much as he hates to admit it, he does need Cain. He is the pureblood elite's favorite son, and his own top officer. He has performed every task Tom has given him over the years splendidly, never once failing. He has never openly defied him, never even denied him access to her as far as the others know. To punish him when he has not, technically, done anything wrong will look selfish. To punish him when he has gone so far as sharing her attention and time, as allowing Tom to touch her the way he does in the public eye, will simply look cruel and unreasonable - traits people do not look for in their leaders. A great general, one who inspires people to follow him as he needs to, does not kill off his own soldiers over personal squabbles.

Second, he knows she will run the second he even hints at planning to do so again. Those words, at least, had not been a lie. To her, hurting Cain is hurting her, and she will not be hurt by anyone ever again. Whatever her former husband had done to her, it had been bad enough that she will never take the risk of letting anyone else do the same. He has seen her magic and knows that, even if she does not manage to outrun him, she will manage to put up a good fight. Love potions, imperio, even torture will only control her for so long. One of them will end up dead. Or, in his case, this part of his soul and this body will be destroyed.

He cannot afford to lose his best knight. With his wealth and status, Cain can do - and has done - more for him than the others combined. He cannot afford to lose the casino. The connections and favors he can acquire through it are simply too valuable to his future plans to give up. He cannot stand to lose her. Even the possibility, even the thought of it, is something he will not entertain. Of course, there is the option of keeping up their professional relationship while forgoing their personal one, but that is not what he has worked so hard for, and he knows in practical terms he would not be able to resist restarting it.

Less coercive methods are needed. Well, perhaps not less coercive, simply less visible. It has to look like - to feel like - she is choosing him. It has to be Cain that ends their relationship, not him. It had taken time to get his far. It will take time to get where he ultimately wants them to be. Time, and something else, which itself will take time to acquire. So, for now, his only option, no matter how much he had hated it when actually faced with the reality of it, is to share. That does not mean it has to be an even split.

* * *

She walks into the office in the morning and sets down her coffee on the desk, looking around more than a bit surprised at what she sees. She'd half expected the place to be torn to shreds. The thought that she might find Tom still there, sleeping in one of the chairs, had popped into her head briefly - but then she'd tried to imagine Tom sleeping and hadn't been able to, quickly making the entire idea seem ridiculous. He had to sleep, right? All humans slept, no matter how much like the devil they looked and like sin they sounded. Or smelled. Fuck, his smell is still here, the sandalwood biting at her nostrils and making her fingers curl around the arms of the chair.

She takes a deep breath to clear her head - unsuccessfully - and looks back at the desk. All of the ledgers and other paperwork are now arranged into neat piles. In the center, right in front of her, sits a carefully written out list of all the outstanding debts owed and to be paid in, creditors listed first, followed by vendors, then finally by customers. An apology, she guesses. For what, she is not sure. For what he'd said? For convincing her to invest in a business which he knew wasn't worth shit? For plotting to hurt Cain?

Maybe it wasn't an apology at all. Maybe it was just a way to distract himself.

Well, he couldn't possibly have slept if he'd managed to get all of this done, that was one thing she knew for certain.

* * *

He gets a letter from her Monday evening. Well, it doesn't seem quite right to call it a letter. All the actual parchment has scribbled on it is his name, with one of the official copies of the Ministry business license for the casino enclosed behind it. Bribes and favors were necessary to obtain it this quickly, he suspects. Especially given that it had been operating illegally for several years now, a fact which many Ministry employees are no doubt aware of, which meant all the back taxes and fines had to have been either excused or paid.

Is this her way of saying she still wants him, he wonders? Or simply business?

* * *

She stands in front of the fireplace Wednesday, waiting for it to flare up, not knowing what to expect. Would he still be angry? Would he still be interested?

The flames turn green for a second and then he steps out, impeccably dressed as always and holding a very small box in his hand. His grey eyes focus on her, but they are as unreadable as the rest of his expression.

She waits for him to speak but finally gives up and simply asks, "Coffee?"

"Yes, please," he responds, the same slippery politeness to his tone that was there the first day they met. He is hiding, and she does not like it.

"In the study or do you want to go out to the garden?" she continues, trying to sound as polite and unperturbed as possible. "The weather is finally turning up."

"This is your home, Cassandra. Choose."

She would rather be inside, she decides. Then again, she'd also rather not have a desk around. She forces a smile and turns, leading him up the stairs to her sitting room. It is a small room. There is no fireplace. Just an entire wall of windows, stretching all the way up to the towering ceiling, with two armchairs arranged in front of them and a sofa facing them opposite, separated by a low table. On the right side are two double doors, which he figures from their path here must lead into her bedroom.

"Please sit. I will return in a few minutes," she says, waving him in. He raises an eyebrow but does not say anything as he goes to take one of the armchairs. She keeps her promise, returning a few minutes later with a tray of coffee and biscuits floating in front of her that she directs to the table as she takes a seat on the sofa.

He lifts up his cup and sips from it, leveling her with another stare that makes it clear he is going to force her to be the one to initiate the conversation. Even this, she knows, is a power move. A dare to say something he does not like. A challenge to guess what he does want to hear. She decides to start with something neutral, a fact he already knows.

"Thank you for sorting the books," she says before taking a sip from her own cup.

"My pleasure, Cass," he answers with a smirk. "Has everything been settled now?"

She nods, "Sent out the last few Gringotts drafts yesterday. I am having some things rearranged and a few new tables installed Friday while I am there meeting with new liquor distributors and the girls. Macnair contacted them for me. Of course, he will be there to assist and spy for you in case you are worried about being kept out of the loop."

"Wonderful," he says, shooting a wry smile at her as he sets down the coffee cup. "I will come by after the shop closes to take a look."

He waits for her to object. Instead, the corners of her lips turn up for a second before she looks down at the small box he'd left on the side table beside his chair, "Do I finally get to see what you've brought today then?"

So she does not hate him again for what he'd said. Good. It had been a possibility that had been crowding his mind since Monday, since the nearly blank letter. It would have complicated matters much more. Now, he can proceed with his plan.

He clicks his tongue, "Patience is a virtue, Cass. Come here."

She puts down her coffee cup and goes to stand in front of him, not being able to help biting her lip as her stomach tumbles. This is the closest they have been since their dinner. His hands travel up her legs, pushing under the fabric of her skirt and sending a chill through her. At the same time, her skin feels like it is on fire. It is almost a relief when his cold fingers close around her thighs, pulling her forward into his lap.

They are eye to eye now, and she can see that he is searching her face for something as he says quietly, "Do you still want this, Cass?"

Her throat feels like it has closed up. How is she supposed to respond to that? She had never wanted this. He'd dragged her into it. Dragged her into him and his grasp. But she does not want to escape it now. Does that mean she wants to be in it? Or does it just mean she knows how futile it would be to resist, to say no to him, to say no to her own body?

She cannot manage any words, cannot put her thoughts into an explanation - and thinks he would not want to hear it anyway if she did - so she just nods.

"Then there are a few demands I have to make, Cass. First, it - our businesses, the organization - comes first. No popping off for a vacation or filing your social calendar with other things. Even if you have plans, you will cancel them if there's a legitimate need for you to be somewhere else."

Her voice comes back, indignant at the suggestion that she does not take her affairs seriously, "Did you really expect any less from me?"

"No, but I still need to make sure my expectations are understood. Next, the matters we discuss in private remain between us. Just me and you, Cass. Not him. Not the others. Nobody unless I say otherwise."

"The things that happen between us in private will remain between us as well?"

"Of course, Cass."

"You keep my secrets, I will keep yours, Tom."

"Third rule. I will expect to have enough of your company during events that it is clear to everyone what your official role is. Further, when we are with them, you will let me touch you as I wish - within the bounds of social politeness - without complaint. It is my prerogative, given my position, as everyone knows."

"As long as you don't make up your own definition of what is polite," she quips back, a challenge in her eyes. Best to establish that line now, because she is sure he will push it.

"Final provision. You can have him, Cass. You can be with your pureblood prince, as you wish. But when we are alone together, you are mine. No talk of that or him unless it's related to the organization and I bring it up. And when we are with the group, doing as I ask of you comes first. I come first. Understand?"

She does not believe him. Not quite. He had said the same thing before too, and she knew now it had been a lie then. At least half his words, it seemed, were lies or well-crafted truths. But since then she had put her foot down on the matter, which she knew was exactly what had driven his little tantrum on Saturday. Perhaps he realized now this was not a provision she would accept him violating, just like hurting her was not something she would suffer again.

Either way, does she really have a choice in the matter? She is very certain of what the result of refusing him would be. Better to take a gamble on half a chance at a happy ending than ensure a bad one. Besides, she is not the one who has put them into this situation in the first place, and if Cain prefers not to stand up to him anyway then it will be easier for them all this way, she thinks.

"I understand what you are asking of me is for my ultimate loyalty to be to you, and it will be. Not because of this, mind you, so don't go inflating your ego even more. Because I want to be part of it, and I know that is the price. It is a price he already paid, so why shouldn't I?"

He raises his hand to her face, a smirk on his, pulling her lips to his for just a few seconds before shifting back to capture her eyes again and hiss, "Remind me again who you are loyal to."

What he wants to hear pops into her head immediately, because she has heard it come out of countless other mouths. She knows what will happen if she does not comply, because the fact is that everyone he associates with does. Still, there is a second of hesitation before she answers, "You, my lord."

"Again, my little harpy," he says, his thumb coming out to caress her bottom lip. The desire in his eyes is palpable, pupils blown so wide they look entirely black. He looks more like an actual snake than ever before - and if he is the snake, that means she is the mouse, but she does not mind in the moment. She knows what being eaten by him feels like, and the memory is enough to bring goosebumps to her skin.

Her lip quivers before she repeats, "You, my lord."

Progress. There is still so much more to go, but her acquiescence is a victory he relishes in.

"There will be consequences for breaking these rules, Cass. You will not pay them personally, and neither will he per your request. Instead, if you misbehave, I will punish one of them. They will know it is for you, and you will watch."

He knows this will be consequence enough for her, whether out of emotion - he remembers the way she'd begged him not to hurt Lestrange - or logic. Her reputation is already fragile enough and he is sure she knows they will all turn against her even more so if they have to experience pain on her behalf. A consequence which, given her sensitivity to whispers, she will want to avoid.

She does not like that word, _misbehave._ Too bad contesting it would likely qualify as misbehaving in his mind. Too bad she's too impulsive not to utter the snarky response, "You do know what happens if you misbehave, don't you, Tom?"

"Say you will leave me again and I will have to put a tracking spell on you, Cass."

His tone is playful. His threat is not. With the dozens to choose from, surely he will have some lead time before she figures out the correct counter-charm. Her eyes narrow at the suggestion, knowing it is probably an idea he is seriously entertaining now.

He kisses her again, the hand not on her face drifting up to her hip and pulling her impossibly closer to him. Every nerve ending in her body fires at once and she reaches for his shoulders, using her hold to try to push herself up so she can reach the waistband of his trousers. His hand on her hip pulls her back down before his other hand slips into her hair and pulls it back so he can nip at her neck.

"Take the ward off your bedroom," he orders between bites.

Could he detect it just by being near it? Or had he tried to get in and been thwarted? She had only added it after his unexpected appearance there. Had he been here some other time since then, when she wasn't home? When she was home? She shivers against him, half from the thought and half from the way his lips are moving. She shoves the thought down as his movements make her grind against his lap, an undeniable heat building inside her that she would be willing to do anything to satisfy at this point. Increasing the protections on the manor will be a job for tomorrow. For right now she is focused on other things.

"I am not going to ask twice, Cassandra."

She glares down at him before shifting and standing up, drawing her wand as she approaches the door. Tom Riddle might be a horrible human being, but there is no denying he is good at a great many things - sex being one of them. And the sex between them is bloody fantastic, irresistibly so. Just as she starts the necessary wand movements, he arrives behind her and starts unzipping her dress, his fingers wandering along her newly exposed skin as he does so.

"Maybe don't distract me in the middle of this," she warns.

"Impossible. But maybe I can help too," he hisses in her ear. He pulls her against him with his left hand while lifting his wand with his right. Even as he starts the wand movements, his other hand keeps wandering, eventually sliding forward and pulling her back against him as he fondles her breast. It irritates her that he doesn't seem to need to pay any attention to what he is doing.

"You're just resealing them," she growls.

"Just trying to make sure you still sleep safely, my little harpy," he says back, pressing a kiss behind her ear.

A little laugh escapes from her as she realizes what he is doing, "Safe from everyone except you, you mean?"

He does not answer, instead squeezing her breast in a way that makes her rise up in to his hold and whimper. The ward finally falls a second later - or rather, is transformed by his magic into a different one than she had originally intended. He withdraws his hand only to turn her around and kiss her again. She is the one to pull him through the doors and back toward the bed, her hands reaching for his pants immediately once they are in front of it.

"Not yet, Cass," he says, pulling them back.

"Don't be a controlling prick, Tom," she responds.

"Trust me, you will like me being in control very much," he hisses before kissing her again. His hands lead hers up to his shirt, and she takes the signal by starting to unbutton it.

Her fingers wander along his chest as his tongue explores her mouth. His sharp clavicle leads her to his broad shoulders, then down his frame, her fingers lingering for a second over the scars on his heart, just to see if he reacts, if he pushes her away. He does not, though she has the feeling an explanation for them will still never come. She moves on.

The rest of his body is also unexpectedly hard, not all bones as she'd expected from his lithe frame but instead sinewy muscles seemingly carved from marble. At the same time, his long fingers start to wander across her skin again, along her hips and to her back to press her closer, then up to the back of her dress to start pulling it off. She shoves the sleeves of the shirt down his shoulders. The cold when he touches the bare skin of her back as he unhooks her bra shocks her, making her shiver.

Her hands finally reach his belt again and he does not stop her this time as her own dress falls to the ground. When she finishes, he pulls away to remove his cufflinks and his shirt completely before moving down to shrug his pants off and discard them behind him. She stands in front of him, eyes wide as they gaze over him.

Odd, the fact that they've already fucked twice and this is the first time she is actually seeing his body. She realizes this is the first time he is actually seeing her completely as well. Though it is not nearly as much of a surprise as he's already undressed most of her before, the realization still makes her blush and want to pull her arms up to cover herself, especially in light of his perfection.

He draws her hands back down just when she starts acting on that thought, stepping forward again to run his fingers over the bare skin of her abdomen. When he talks, it sounds as if he is whispering to himself instead of her, " _Beautiful_."

She does not hate the word for once when it comes out of his mouth like a prayer. The way he says it while gazing down at her with eyes that have gone almost completely black makes her core tighten, the need for release building up to painful levels already.

Tom Riddle does like pretty things, and she is the prettiest thing he has ever seen.

He does not say anything else as he kisses her again, pushing her back and down onto the bed, his arms guiding her up until her head hits the pillow. She whimpers when he separates their lips and their bodies again. He smirks and runs his nose along her cheek until he reaches her ear, "Good, Cass. Don't you dare try to suppress those noises today. I want to hear exactly how you react to me."

Merlin, is it possible to get wetter?

Yes - the answer comes to her mind quickly as he lowers his mouth back down her neck and then to her breasts, licking around her nipple before popping it into his mouth and sucking. She screams and arches her back up. He brings his teeth down in response, biting just hard enough to make her cry out again. Her hands reach up to his hair to try to pull him off, but they are pushed back by a spell he does without even looking, held down to the bed above her head by some invisible force.

He removes his mouth and smirks up at her surprised expression before warning, "Don't interrupt while I am playing with you, my little harpy."

"I thought you wanted to get in to the bedroom so we could fuck," she snaps.

"We will. Eventually," he responds while his hand comes up, a single finger running circles around the all too sensitive area he had just bitten. She bites her lip and tosses her head back when he finally reaches her nipple again and just barely brushes over it. He laughs at her whimper. His other hand comes up to push her hair away from her face and caress it as he says, "Don't worry, my little harpy - this will be fun for you too."

"Just fuck me and you can have as much fun as you want afterward," she tries to bargain.

She bites her lip between her teeth as he starts repeating the same treatment on her other breast, muttering against it, "Do you really need me that badly, Cassandra?"

"I want to - _fuck_ ," she cries out as he bites down on her other breast.

"I know. As I said, patience is a virtue. You can beg as much as you need to, but I will take my time to enjoy you."

She thinks he must want to make her cry from the way his tongue sweeps over the marks he just left. She almost breathes a sigh of relief when he lifts his mouth again, but he just moves over to the other side again, making her curse again. Finally, after another round, he moves down her body, lips skimming across her abdomen to her core. The delicate lace of her underwear rips with just a glance, allowing him to remove it without moving her. One kiss to her pelvis is all it takes to make her open her legs wider for him, allowing him room to move down and settle between them.

Her body is already so tense that a few licks of his tongue across her are all it takes for her to come undone, screaming as she gushes around him and he drinks it in, a smirk plastered on his face but his tongue still working at her.

"Hurts, Tom," she whimpers as she passes the line from pleasure to pain due to the overstimulation, too exhausted from the release of all her built up tension to form a full sentence.

He looks up at her, for a moment looking like he's going to keep going anyway, like he wants to hurt her, before moving his mouth down her inner thighs instead, marking them on his way. When he is done, the pressure has already built back up and she thinks he will finally give her what she really needs. Instead, his mouth just clamps down around her again. It takes a few minutes longer this time, but just when she feels she is about to burst, he removes himself and starts working his way back up her body.

When he pauses between her breasts again and she is faced with the fact he may just continue this assault forever, she cannot help but try begging again, "Tom, please, just fuck -"

His hand sneaks between her legs, a finger pressing into her. The sudden intrusion makes her shiver but he holds her down with his palm pressed against her skin.

"Do you want me, Cassandra?" he asks, staring into her eyes, as he teases her with small movements. She moves her lips to answer but he shushes her with a kiss before saying, "Me. Not just this. Not just the organization. _Me_. Do you want to be with me?"

"Tom, I am not going to stop -"

"Remember the rules, my little harpy. All I am asking is if these appointments, our meetings, _us_ is something you can admit to choosing now. No more deal, Cass. No contingencies. Just me and you."

"I'll hate you if -"

"I know. Now don't make me warn you again, because I won't," he says. She licks her lips and looks away for a second before nodding. "Say it, Cassandra."

"I want you," she tries. He does not move, so she tries again, "I want to be with you."

These seem to be the magic words, because he withdraws his hand from her and moves to pull his boxers down. She expects him to move his body over to align with hers, but instead his arms just wrap around her waist and pull her with him as he flips them over.

She gets the message. He wants her to show him she wants this - and she does, lifting up to guide him in, a sigh escaping her as he fills her. She is so close that every single sensation feels like enough to tip her over, but his hands go to her hips and grip them, forcing her to move slowly. She whimpers and falls down into him as she gets close, kissing him just as an orgasm rips through her. He kisses back, movements soft for a few minutes as he lets her rest, his wandering mouth and the small jerks of his hands guiding her hips keeping her suspended in an infinite state of bliss until he asks, "Ready?"

She nods. He pulls them around again, pushing her down on the bed as he hovers over her, driving into her steadily but roughly. The room echos with the noises coming from both of them, grunts and cries and short praises - _yes, fuck, right there, so good, more._

She feels him twitch inside of her and he slows, his movements sensual again. He leans his head down against the pillow to be able to bury himself in her and places his mouth next to her ear, hissing, "We were made for each other, Cassandra."

Another orgasm comes crashing over her and he finally gives into his, spilling into her. When the sensation has subsided, she shifts, still nearly gasping, until they are laying on their sides next to each other. His eyes are closed, the first time she has seen them be, she thinks. She makes the mistake of thinking he is already asleep and tries to move further away, but he just wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her forward against his chest.

" _Mine_ ," he mutters, pressing a kiss against her forehead. She is too exhausted to hold out on sleeping just because of this, so she lets her own eyes slip closed too.

* * *

By the time they wake, the light in the room reveals that the sun is already in the process of setting. She stands up, summoning a glass of water over to quench her thirst before looking down to find him still lying in her bed and staring at her.

"Do you want dinner?" she asks, stumbling a bit as she pulls on her dress.

He finally stands and starts putting on his own clothes before answering, "Unfortunately, I have another engagement."

"I see," she says, clipped, before turning to face the mirror on her dressing table and fixing her lipstick.

He chuckles as he does up his belt, "You cannot fault me for playing my games with other women as necessary to benefit my plans when you play your games with him to benefit your shiny new public image."

"Play your games, just don't bring any souvenirs back from them to me," she snaps.

When she turns back to him, she sees he has summoned the small box he'd brought. He opens it as she watches. He has been keeping this one for some time, waiting until it can be useful. Inside is the family signet ring her father wore.

"How much?" she asks, reaching out. Her eyes are laser focused on it, clearly entranced.

Before she can touch it, he takes it back. He puts it in his pocket before saying, "Someday we can discuss that."

She understands his answer to mean that it will cost more than money. She still argues back, "That should rightfully be mine. I will tell Borg…"

"Borgin doesn't know it exists, and he won't. As I said, you can have it someday. As long as it remains the sigil of the family you claim."

Her eyes narrow for a second. At this point, she has given into a lot of his commands, but this is one she does not want to bow to. It does not matter that she does not want to marry again. She resents being told she cannot. She looks at the determination on his face and is almost certain that if he could write _mine_ all over her he would.

Fuck, she really shouldn't have let him fuck her.

But is she going to stop letting him fuck her now? Absolutely not.

She's already dug her grave. She's already lying in it. Why get up now?

* * *

Meanwhile, in London, Cain receives a letter from Druella requesting his urgent presence. He ignores it, thinking whatever it is can wait until after work, only to receive a howler twenty minutes later demanding he come now. When he arrives, the blood on the entryway carpet gives him a hint as to why she had summoned him. The house elf appears, grumbling as usual, and leads him up to one of the bedrooms. Cygnus is laid out in the bed, unconscious by the looks of it, as Druella dots dittany on the cuts all over his upper body.

Cain rolls up his sleeves and goes to the cauldron that has been set up in the corner. He'd been horrid at potion making during the first few years of school, until Cassandra had tutored him on it the summer before fourth year and it had become one of his best subjects. The only one he'd even managed to get anywhere close to rivaling Tom in. Without the benefit of Cassandra's wisdom, Druella is still horrid at it, a trait that seems to run in the family. At any rate, she is too busy to tend to a cauldron right now, so Cain gets to work brewing the blood restoring potion. He wishes he could go get Cassandra to help, but she is too far away and, anyway, Cain knows better than to disturb her on a Wednesday.

An hour later, with the potion brewed and ingested and the majority of his cuts closed up, Cygnus wakes briefly. Cain leaves the room to let them talk in private. Druella joins him in the sitting room a short while later.

"Sleeping," she explains. She knows what he will ask next and answers it before he can, "He got put on a mission to break into some house in Germany looking for a magical artifact. Needless to say, the house was boobytrapped, and since Nott made him take the lead…"

"I can get him in to St. Mungo's. Off the books, of course."

"There will be no need. Not this time," she says, taking a seat across from him. Cain's jaw ticks and he looks away for a second, the awkward silence hanging in the air for a minute before Druella accepts the fact that she will need to be the one to confront the issue, "We both know his selection was no coincidence. You have to talk to him, Cain. Talk some sense into him. Cygnus is young, inexperienced for such tasks. And I cannot raise my children without a father."

Cain nods, a serious look on his face instead of the usual smile, "I will, Druella."

"You know this is beca - "

He knows this is retaliation for his showing up at the casino and ruining whatever Tom was trying to do that evening. He is a good actor - good enough to trick her - but not good enough to trick Tom, who evidently knows his appearance was a purposeful sabotage instead of a spur of the moment decision based on good intentions.

"I know. Don't ask me to stop seeing her."

"I'm not asking. He's telling."

"I won't."

"Not even for your family, brother?"

"It's a ridiculous demand and everyone knows it. He has no right to take her from me. No right to take her at all. There is no reason for it, no justification. I have done everything he has asked except for this. And she does not want him anyway."

"We all took an oath, Cain. He's our lord. He has a right to everything, regardless of what his reasons are, or whether or not you or her want to give it to him."

"Not her. Never her."

"Don't be selfish."

"I am not the one being selfish, sister. As I said, I will talk to him. I will make sure he does not involve you two in it again."

* * *

Tom has a private office in an unassuming little flat at the end of Diagon Alley. It is above a shop in a row of other shops, meaning the area is deserted by the usual time Tom is there to hold meetings with them individually. Cain apparates over, knowing he will be there already waiting for him.

Tom is smirking when the door magically swings open in response to Cain's knocking. He looks up at him, raising an eyebrow as he waives to the chair across from his desk, "Well, this is unexpected. Then again, you seem to have a habit of dropping into places you have not been invited to. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Cain walks closer but refuses to take a seat, just glaring down at him, "It is time for these little games to stop Tom. He was almost killed."

"I am afraid I have no idea to what you are referring."

"So you're really going to pretend you didn't assign Cygnus to the most dangerous task you could think of just to get back at me?"

"As I recall, I put Nott in charge of that mission. If you have an issue with his decisions on it, perhaps you should take it up with him."

They both know he knew what he was doing by telling Nott to lead it. Nott still has a grudge against him from that day at Mulciber's house, and Tom had given him the opportunity to do something about it, which he had of course happily taken.

Cain snarls, "I know you don't understand, but my family is very important to me."

"Thank you for the reminder that I do not have one, Cain," Tom says, standing up. "See, that means I have no one else in my life I care at all about. Just a very singular interest in your girlfriend. Shall we count how many people in your life you care about?"

Cain remains silent, wise enough not to answer his provocation and hand Tom over a list of who would hurt him the most. Tom just smiles and makes his own a second later.

"Let's see. Your mother and father first. Your beloved sister. Her husband. Their child. Their soon-to-be born second child. And isn't there a cousin somewhere from that dearly departed aunt of yours that you are fond of? I am sure she won't be too hard to track down. Aside from family, there's friends like Lestrange. You two have been very close your entire lives, haven't you? And Avery, you two have a certain bond due to your similar natures. I think we can safely add Greengrass. Merlin knows you don't feel nearly as strongly for her as she does for you, but still. My, that's ten already. Wouldn't it be tragic to lose them all? Though even one, I imagine, would be terrible."

Cain spits out sarcastically, "Go ahead and do that - because surely if there is one thing you want to get a reputation for, it is wiping out pureblood lines over personal squabbles."

"Not at all. I would leave you, so the Rosier line would survive."

"Considering she would run once you showed her who you really are, it would not."

"She asked me to protect you, Cain. Nobody else. Besides, do you really think she has it in her to care about all of them? Already her affection for you is only misplaced nostalgia."

"See some sense, Tom. This infatuation you have with her is not mutual, nor is it helpful to your plans since, as I am sure you would agree, ensuring the continuation of pureblood lines - most especially the ancient and nobles lines, of which the Rosier line is one - is an important aspect of our desired society."

Tom's jaw twitches. His glare is enough of an order to stop talking, but Cain does not.

"She loves me. We are going to start a family together. It would be unfortunate if the right of our offspring to carry the Rosier name was drawn into question."

"I assume you would want to do things the proper way?" Tom asks before mocking, "First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a baby in a baby carriage."

Cain resists the urge to punch him, gritting his teeth as he answers, "Of course."

"First, she doesn't love you."

"Yes, she does."

"How long did it take you to believe that delusion, or do you know it isn't true?"

"She's said she does."

"Then she lied."

"If you are so sure about that, then ask her yourself."

"Second, she's never going to marry you."

"I think she will."

"You think she wants to get married again after how the last one turned out?"

"That was different."

"She killed her husband."

"That wasn't her fault."

"Hence why I am sure she isn't eager to be legally bound to a man again."

"She never wanted to marry him in the first place."

"And you think she wants to marry you?"

"She loves me."

"In your head, she does."

"She does. Ask her."

"If she loves you, why would she let me touch her? I know she told you what our agreement is by now, so I know you know that isn't part of it."

"Because she is scared of what you will do if she denies you, just like all of us are."

"Come, Cain, you are too clever to be that oblivious. You saw the way she looked at me at the last meeting. She is not scared of me, and you know it. I am not compelling her to do anything. What is between us is just as much by her wish as it is mine."

"What is between you is _nothing_ , Tom, and it doesn't mean she doesn't love me."

"Actually, most people would say it does."

"Most people don't know what a manipulative bastard you are."

Tom's jaw twitches again at the word, as Cain knew it would. He sneers, "As if you're so innocent. You are so eager to reveal my faults, did you ever tell her yours? The things you've done? No, you'd rather have her think you're perfect and I'm the big bad monster here - but we both know you've done much more than just follow my commands, golden boy."

Cain falls silent, simply glaring at him in response to his threat. He would do anything for her. She does not need to know the things he had done before her.

"She doesn't love you, and you know it just as well as I do," Tom berates. "She loves the idea of being 16 again and being able to start over, but we all knows it's too late for that."

"She loves me. You can try to convince me she doesn't however much you want, but I am not going to fall for your mind games again."

Tom laughs and says, "It appears you're already playing enough tricks on your own mind if you've convinced yourself to believe that."

"She will marry me."

"What are you going to do, imperio her down the aisle and hope she doesn't undo it when she wakes up? Arrange a secret wedding day and take some felix felicis on it? Slip her some fertility potion and talk her into doing the respectable thing?"

The last one stings. So Tom knows then, what had happened with her first marriage. It stings that she had trusted him enough to tell him too. It stings that he would even imply Cain would do the same to her.

At Cain's silence, Tom hisses, "No? You would never do any of that to Cass, would you?So it seems safe to say that if you want to get to the third step, you'll have to find someone else."

His response is quiet, tempered, "If she says yes, will you stop?"

"Are you asking me for a deal?"

"Yes. As soon as she's wearing my ring on her finger, you stop touching her."

Tom laughs again, even sharper, "Since that will never happen, I might be willing to indulge you if there was something in it for me."

"What do you want?"  
"If you do ask and she says she doesn't want to marry you, _you_ stop touching her."

"If things turn out my way and you break your side, we get to leave. No consequences. No tracking us down to force us back. Just letting us live normal lives."

"If things turn out my way and you break your side, you'll kill yourself. Deal?" Tom offers a hand, the charming smile on his face a stark contrast to the seriousness of his words.

"Deal," Cain responds, swallowing as he reaches out to shake it.

"Wonderful. Now to move on to what happens in the meantime. As I am sure you recall, Cassandra has asked us to behave like gentlemen in public - a request that would be much easier for me to fulfill if you were not around so much."

"Are you really asking me to stop seeing my girlfriend in public?"

"I am not asking. From now on, I determine how much time you spend with her. I understand, of course, that she would question it if you didn't spend any time with her, but reasonable limits will be enforced."

"None of this is reasonable, Tom."

"Your safety has made you bold, Cain. Perhaps another reminder is needed that there can still be consequences to your disobedience."

"I apologize. None of this is reasonable, _My Lord_ ," Cain spits out.

Tom just twirls his wand between his fingers as he says, "Lestrange is due for a meeting soon, perhaps we can kill two birds with one stone."

"I'm sorry, My Lord," Cain says through gritted teeth. "May I enquire as to what some of these reasonable limits might be?"

"See, so much better already. I knew we could get along, for her sake," Tom says smugly.

Cain almost rolls his eyes. Yes, isn't it amazing how cooperative somebody can be when threatened with the death of their best friend?

"First, naturally, you will not interrupt us again. Second, you will be expected to hand her over to me at _all_ events upon arrival and, certainly, upon request if she should somehow stray back to you. Third, you will be limited to one public date per week, if any, with pre-approval. For now, I shall not impose any limits on your private time together, but should that begin to get in the way, I do reserve the right to change my mind on the issue - so please ensure it does not."

Cain's face is set in a frown as he looks down at the ground. _If any_. He had gotten stuck at that part. Of course Tom had set up the playing field and then made it uneven. He'd been naive not to realize it wouldn't be a fair fight.

At his silence, Tom simply asks, "Understood?"

Merlin, he's going to break a wall as soon as he gets out of here. At this point, all he wants is to be away from this prick, so Cain says, "Yes, My Lord."

Tom dismisses him, satisfied. The trap is set. Now time for Cain to break them apart himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone enjoyed this update! I do plan to keep working on this story. As much as possible, I will try to post new chapters weekly as I have been - however, I can't promise as much consistency anymore because of school.
> 
> Question: How long do you like chapters to be around? I know this one and quite a few earlier ones were really long. Wondering if readers prefer that so that everything can be resolved in a chapter, or if shorter chapters would be easier to read instead.


	24. Two's Company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Horns by Bryce Fox

"Please don't get up again, Cass," Cain mutters, rolling into her and pressing his head into the hollow between her neck and shoulder. His arm wraps around her waist, pulling her back against his chest and stopping her from shifting any further away.

"I have to go, Cain," she mutters back before managing to turn around and place a kiss on his forehead. "I'll be back later. You're sleeping anyway. You won't even notice I'm gone."

"You don't _have_ to go anywhere, Cass," he pleads, staring at her. This exact scenario plays out almost every fucking night and he is tired of it. Not tired of her staying over, of course. Thrilled about that. In fact, he wishes she'd just move in already instead of still insisting on spending every third or fourth night in her own home. Tired of her always having more work to do, no matter what ungodly hour of the night it is.

"I do. I have a meeting," she responds while maintaining a forced smile. She would rather pretend she doesn't know how he is feeling than confront something neither of them have any power over. But the pretending has gone on too long and Cain is tired of it.

"Let me guess, extorting someone?" he says, carefully disguising it as a joke to try to bury his own bitterness.

She laughs and quips, "The party line is that we are getting to know our guests."

 _We_ , Cain thinks, rolling the word over in his mind. She had never mentioned her late night work was a group affair before, so he knows this little slip is a mistake. In fairness, they do not talk about Tom together. So far, it has been easier for them to proceed as if he does not exist, except when he is imposing his presence on them. It is not easier now. Cain can't get it out of his mind. _We_. Her and Tom. Tom and her. Every night, nearly, for the last two months. Sitting at the casino, holding court.

Meanwhile, he has to write Tom begging for one chance each week to take her out. Dinners, he had learned, were often turned down. Better a banquet or a charity event, something sufficiently public that her absence on his arm would go noticed by the press. Of course, those have the downside that they are sufficiently public that Tom can show up to them too and, per his orders, force Cain to hand her over to him. At best, Cain has been able to get in a few dances with her before he shows up and after they inevitably get into some argument bad enough that Tom decides the diplomatic thing to do is return to his date. It has been unbearable, as he is sure Tom is purposefully making it to force his hand on their agreement. But he knows she is not ready quite yet, and he isn't willing to risk the consequences of a bad response on a rushed, half-hearted attempt. He's still planning, still trying to work up to it.

But this - _this_ is really unbearable. He knew Tom had been the one who had arranged her investment in the casino. Still, was it foolish to let himself believe he would leave her alone to run it, as he did for the bookkeeping business with Cain or the creatures with Lestrange? Hell, he even let Nott run loose and make most of the decisions about what campaigns to offer his services to and what bribes to pay for himself. Tom is a busy man, too busy for something like this unless it is something he wants to do. He should have known he wouldn't stick to his old tricks. To their once weekly sales appointment and her forced position at his side during meetings. He should have known that wasn't enough for him, that he wouldn't just wait for Cain to break them apart.

How easy it is to underestimate the depravity of a man like Tom Riddle.

At his silence as he is wrapped in his thoughts, she stands and starts to pull her dress on, "I know it's been a big commitment so far, but I promise it won't always be. It took a lot to get the place in order, and we just reopened three weeks ago so certain matters still need to be settled. Within a week or two, things should be running smoothly and I can take a step back."

It won't always be, but _he_ will always be, Cain thinks. Tom has been tightening his grip on her this whole time, coiling around her ready to strike, and what has he been doing? Living in the delusion that just because he hadn't heard about it, it hadn't been happening? Trying to plan some ridiculous proposal he had insisted she wanted despite the fact that every time he even mentioned anything about a future for them she changed the subject? Merlin, he'd clung so hard to those words he had waited decades to hear that he'd become blind to everything else.

Perhaps he's already struck. But she would tell him, wouldn't she? She wouldn't break his heart like that again, would she? Then again, she hadn't told him about the meetings.

He takes hold of her hand before she can walk away and smiles up at her as he proposes, "I would like to come with you, if you don't mind. Of course, I won't interrupt your meeting or anything like that, but it would be nice to see the casino now that it has been updated. To appreciate the product of all your hard work."

* * *

"Don't think Macnair didn't tell me who you walked in with. What is he doing here?" Tom hisses. He has an arm around her shoulders and his fingers are playing with her hair as he sits close enough to her that she can feel his breath on her neck in their private booth while waiting for their guest to arrive. They are hidden by paneled curtains that keep the booth sheltered from wandering eyes and ears when they wish for what's happening in it to be secret.

"Gambling, like everyone else," she shrugs. "Is there a reason he shouldn't be?"

"This might fit within the letter of our rules, but it is not in the spirit of them."

"I believe the particular rule you are thinking of applies when we are alone together. Right now, we are alone together, and he is elsewhere. When we finish this meeting and emerge onto the casino floor, we will no longer be alone together, will we?"

"Don't try to outwit me again or I will make a show of putting you back in your place."

She raises an eyebrow, "This isn't already a show?"

"A show would be if I slipped my hand between your legs and made you come for me loud enough for the whole floor to hear right now, my little harpy."

"You wouldn't dare…"

He pulls her into his lap, opening his legs to slide her between them before she can register what is happening and resist. His arm wraps around her waist to keep her in place. He challenges, "Push me again, Cassandra. Please. I am so eager to show him where you belong."

"This is not appropriate, and I don't think our _guest_ will appreciate such a position during a serious meeting either."

"Trust me, Cass, he will," Tom whispers in her ear. His hand lands on her leg just above her knee, squeezing her skin. "Now stop complaining."

She rolls her eyes in response, her face showing how much she wants to bite back - but she knows better than to provoke him when he has already warned her twice, let alone when Cain is so close. As if on cue, the curtains open up again and an older gentlemen slips in on the opposite side of the booth.

"Robards, welcome," Tom says with a jovial smile.

"What's the meaning of this?"

Cassandra chimes in now, a sweet tone to her voice as she simpers, "Sit. Have a drink. You'll know soon enough."

The man follows their instructions, nursing the glass of firewhisky that was waiting for him as he looks at them. Most people would be nervous or scared, but she sees something else in his eyes. Not exactly suspicion. Interest perhaps. She, of course, knows how these meetings go, and is sure whatever it is will morph into fear soon.

Cassandra waits until he has relaxed into his seat before speaking again, "As I am sure you know, I now run this esteemed establishment. And I do like to make sure it runs smoothly. It has been brought to my attention that you seem to causing a bit of…trouble upstairs."

"Upstairs?" the man asks, leveling her with a glare. "I don't know what you mean."

Cassandra had moved the girls in upstairs permanently before the casino reopened. It would be safer for them there, she had thought. She'd set up alarm spells so that Macnair would be able to interrupt when any of them felt uncomfortable or were in trouble.

It was safer for her too, to be able to keep an eye on their activities and set rules for their business. No new guests, for one. Only loyal customers were aware of what happened upstairs, and telling anyone about it would get them banned from the entire place forever. Of course, there were also the fees she took from them, money she could not afford to forgo with all the debts she had to settle just to reopen the place. Having them upstairs meant it was harder for clients to stiff them - or Cassandra of her cut - when it could just be taken out of their winnings or their access suspended until their bill was paid.

The side benefits to Tom and his plans were quite significant in themselves, given now he knew exactly what got many men of power and wealth off, how often, and with whom, as well as about their spending habits and gambling debts. She does not get involved with the details herself, preferring to avoid knowing as much about the previsions of strange men as possible, simply showing up at whatever time he says and playing good cop to his bad cop.

"I know this is a casino, but we have not invited you here to play games," Tom warns. "We both know exactly what she is referring to, don't we?"

The other man shakes his head adamantly, "I have never been a client…"

Tom cuts him off with a smirk, "No, you just like to watch, Robards."

The man just tightens his grip on his glass and shifts his glare over to Tom.

Now Cassandra understands exactly what that look is in his eyes. Exactly why Tom had put her in this position in the first place. It _is_ interest. Not in what Tom wants. In them. They are both objectively striking after all. It would be quite a scene to see them fuck. A scene she is sure has been playing itself out in this man's head since he arrived. Tom really is a master at manipulating people.

"To each his own," Cassandra declares to break the staring contest between them. "But it is scaring away some of the other clientele. Of course, the girls are happy to arrange something to indulge your particular fantasy - for a fee, understood?"

"Understood, miss," the man answers with as much indignation as possible for someone who has just admitted to wanking off outside prostitute's doors. "If that's all - "

"Not so fast. What about your past transgressions, Robards? Perhaps you can do something to make up for them," Tom says with a smile. "I am sure you recognized one of your employees on your way in, Robards. Cain Rosier is quite exceptional, isn't he? Such a shame he hasn't been promoted to senior undersecretary yet."

"That's a position that requires decades of experience! Mr. Rosier, while outstanding in his current role, has barely been out of school for -" the head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports starts to protest.

"Yes, and taking advantage of the services of prostitutes requires payment, Mr. Robards," Cassandra points out. "Should we call up your wife to settle your accounts?"

"Go ahead, she already knows about my little indiscretions. Though I am afraid a regular ministry employee does not earn enough to pay your prices. As I don't have a trust fund to draw on, she won't be able to settle my debt. However, I am willing to agree to your offer of settlement if we can throw one little bonus in there."

Tom raises an eyebrow, "Your wife may already know about your habits, but let me remind you that our _offer_ will keep the rest of the wizarding world from learning about them as well. What else would you like to add, sir?"

He looks between them one more time before asking, "You two are fucking, right?"

Tom laughs, loud and boisterous, immediately understanding what he is asking for. To avoid giving him a chance to answer, Cassandra quickly snaps, "No, we are not."

"Right, you're Rosier's little piece, aren't you? At least according to the papers. But I would love to get to know what happens behind closed doors. Perhaps in return for a demonstration…"

She scoffs. The smile on Tom's face grows to a wolf's grin as he says, "Come now, Cassandra, I think the man is offering a reasonable deal."

"If you really think - "

"Just close your eyes and pretend we are alone, darling."

She turns her head to glare at him like if he even thinks it about it she's going to burn it off, "You should be glad we aren't, _darling_."

A chuckle from the other side of the table and the clinking of ice in a glass as Robards raises his, "I would take a threat like that from our local murderess seriously if I were you."

She whips back at him, her glare shifting now and a too sweet smile appearing on her face, "You should take your local murderess more seriously as well, Mr. Robards. Unless you want your little habit to be on the front page of the Prophet tomorrow."

Tom sweeps her hair aside and lays his lips briefly on the skin just behind her ear to whisper a warning, "Don't waste our ammunition just because of your pride, Cassandra."

Tom separates from her to speak up so that Robards can hear too, "Cass, there's no need for such extreme measures. I am sure we can come to an understanding agreeable to all parties."

"I am not fucking you - "

"Perhaps someone else then? Maybe your boyfriend can finally earn that silver spoon he was born with. What do you say, Mr. Robards? Is that an agreeable compromise?"

"Most agreeable to me, though I must admit I am surprised you would offer it."

"Wonderful. How lucky that he decided to drop in today. Cass, why don't you go and see if Cain is willing to sing for his supper for once?"

"Tom - "

"It's him or me, Cass. You decide."

The glare she gives in response tells him she is going to have his head for this later. She slips from Tom's lap, but before she can leave, Robards speaks up again, "I do like you Ms. Malecrit. You're the kind of businesswoman the world needs more of."

She turns back and cocks an eyebrow, "And what kind of businesswoman is that?"

"The kind who enjoys playing with powerful men. As I mentioned, I am a bit short on cash these days. Perhaps we could even explore future opportunities."

"I'm sure Tom would be more than happy to discuss future business dealings."

She heads out through the curtain, resisting the urge to just not come back. She knows they need to convince him. That getting Cain into this position is a big part of their overall plans for the next few months. Knows that publishing the story now would be waste. Not to mention it would expose her own business activities in the scandal. Still, if Tom had tried to dissuade him rather than entertaining the idea, they would have moved on from it and found something else to agree on. She wouldn't be in this situation.

She finds Cain at the roulette tables, lazily betting while most of his attention is focused on a conversation with someone about his mother's upcoming midsummer gala for the London Magical Ballet. Someone as in some young woman who is very obviously trying to get an invitation to it from him, her flirting going overlooked. She touches his arm to get his attention before asking, "Darling, can I speak with you for a moment?"

The girl scowls. Cain beams as he turns to her and takes her hand, "Of course, love."

Once they are in the corner reasonably far enough away not to be overheard, she whispers, "I need a favor from you, please."

He pulls her closer, "Anything for you, Cass."

She laughs, "I'm not so sure this is within the scope of what you are contemplating. I need you to fuck me… in front of your boss."

It's his turn to laugh, "I'm sorry, I don't think I heard that right. Why on earth would Robards want - "

"It's what he gets off on. Tom and I are trying to negotiate something and he won't budge from this little _request_."

"If there's one person I am absolutely sure doesn't - "

"He was the one to suggest it," she says, cutting him off, words rushed. She just wants to get this conversation and this entire entire situation over with as soon as possible. "Look, I understand if it's too weird - "

"You need something from him?"

"Yes."

"And this is what you need to do to get it?"

"Yes."

"Then come on."

He pulls her by the hand back toward the corner he caught her emerging out of. She follows numbly, focusing on him instead of on _this_. The conversation in the booth halts as they walk past the curtain.

"A fortuitous day for you to attend, old friend," Tom says, raising a glass toward Cain from his position at the top of the booth. In realty, fortune had little to do with it. He had told Macnair to move this one up on the schedule as soon as he'd seen him walk in. "I think you recognize our guest."

"Hello, Robards. Seeing what I'm here for, I assume it won't be impolite of me to dispense of any small talk today."

Robards chuckles, "Cain Rosier, ever the gentlemen, still worried about his manners. Yes, I don't think any _talk_ will be necessary."

Cain sits down across from the older man. She slips into Cain's lap, facing him. He does not look nearly as reluctant as she does - and she does not think that is just a trick of his acting abilities. She is sure he is eager to show Tom exactly what he can make her feel. Just as eager as Tom is to show him if she doesn't cooperate. Well, might as well piss Tom off in return.

She leans into Cain, her lips finding his as her hands tangle in his hair. She rises in his lap as she deepens the kiss. One of his hands finds her hip, steadying her balance, as the other tangles into her hair. He tugs slightly, a silent request which she grants by arching her head back and hovering so her neck is right in front of his lips.

Her hands slip down his shoulders and into his lap. At this angle and with the table in the way, the other two won't be able to see much except for their upper halves anyway, she figures. Her hand draws him out and she pulls her own underwear aside to slip onto him. He grabs her neck as they come face to face again, pulling her in for another kiss. Her eyes slip closed, losing the rest of the room. All they can hear now is their own heavy breathing, all they can feel is their own burning desire to possess the other.

She opens them again only to meet his, the piercing blue even more icy than usual. Their foreheads leaned together, they stare into each other's eyes as he tips her over the edge. The intimacy between them is not overlooked by Tom, and when she throws her head back with a silent scream as she comes she can see his jaw twitching.

His unhappiness inspires a thought in her head as she sinks back into Cain's lap. She leans forward and whispers in his ear just loud enough that she knows Tom will overhear, "I want you to put a baby inside me, love."

Cain groans at the statement as she knew he would, spilling into her a second later as he places soft kisses down her neck and shoulders. He pulls her closer, holding her as they both catch their breath. When she finally wakes from her trance, she realizes she did not hear the curtain move, so she glances over her shoulder and is glad to see that Tom dismissed their guest now that the show is over.

Rustling next to her soon indicates Tom is preparing to leave as well. He stands, announcing one last order before turning to leave, "Cassandra, you will stay. We have plans to discuss. I will be waiting in the office. Congratulations on your promotion, Cain."

The sudden promotions of all of the other knights over the last few weeks now make considerably more sense to Cain. He had wondered how Tom was accomplishing them all without asking any of them to use their connections in the ministry at all or drawing on more funds. He now has senior staff in half a dozen of the most important departments under his thumb, effectively giving him a detailed view of the ministry's overall operations that even department heads and the minister herself probably do not have. Masterful extortion indeed.

But who cares? Certainly not Cain. He's going to win anyway.

* * *

It takes Cassandra 15 minutes to wrench herself away from Cain and convince him to go home, what with his continued kisses and questions. He holds her left hand too tightly before he finally lets her go and walks out, and she instantly regrets choosing that particular way to taunt Tom.

She shouldn't have given him such false hope. She knows it will only hurt him more in the end. Maybe she doesn't have to hurt him at all, she thinks as she remembers the grin on his face as they'd said their goodbyes. She has never seen someone so happy in her life, and it makes her wish happiness was contagious. His is for her, usually - but not when she is worried about being the cause of it's end.

Tom is sitting in her chair behind her desk when she arrives, prompting an eye roll from her. She walks up beside him, glaring down at him with her arms crossed in front of her as she says haughtily, "Excuse me."

"There's another chair over there. Or you can sit in my lap again, if you prefer."

"Do you remember when you said this would be my business?"

"I lied. I am sure you recognized that, since you do it so often."

"I wasn't lying. You are always encouraging your other followers to propagate more purebloods into the world. Why should we be any different?"

He stands quickly, a hand wrapping itself around her neck to keep her in place as he pushes her back against the bookshelves behind her desk. He growls, "You know why, Cassandra."

She smirks and bats her eyelashes up at him, "Careful, Tom. You might hurt the baby."

"If there was one, you know I would make you get rid of it, don't you? I won't have you doting over some brat when you should be busy with our plans."

"Don't worry," she responds with a smirk. "I'll hire a nanny."

His hand tightens. Not enough to hurt, but enough to serve as a warning. He moves closer as he hisses, "Don't make me fuck my baby into you instead, Cass."

"Please don't. I wouldn't want a half - "

He cuts her off by kissing her, his lips still hovering over hers as he declares, "It would be a descendent of Salazar Slytherin and an honor for you. Now stop acting like a child yourself, Cassandra. It was your fault for bringing him, you know."

"I think we will name - "

"That's it," Tom snarls, his magic pressing her back against the shelf and making her feel as if she is stuck against it. He kisses her while gripping her thighs with his hands and pulling them around his hips. "I was doing you a favor, Cassandra."

He plunges into her, a hand coming up to pull her hair so that she has to look him in the eyes while he takes her. He hisses, "You want us to be a secret, don't you? This to be a secret?"

"Do you think," Tom starts, interrupting his own sentence to drive into her again.

"He will think we are doing this," Tom says, pulling free again.

"If I let him do that in front of me?" Tom finishes, bottomming out inside her. In response to her silence, he snaps his hips, pushing hers back against the shelf again and making the fullness of his shallow strokes feel painful. "Thank me for my kindness, Cass."

"Do you really think you can placate me with that lie?" she asks with a laugh despite the sharp pangs running through her. "You did it because you wanted to show him you can control me. You wanted to imply that if you did order me to fuck you, I would, just as I did him."

"I don't need to imply I could order you to fuck me, because you don't need to be ordered to do so. Everybody who looks at us together can see that, see how much you want to be with me instead."

"I do not want you," she snarls. "Especially not after that."

"Well I certainly don't see you resisting this, Cassandra."

"Merlin, you are _thick_. How many months is it going to take you to realize my wanting to fuck you is not the same as my wanting you?"

He drives into her harder, drawing a cry from her, before growling, "Tell me something, my little harpy. How much better do I feel than he does?"

"Fuck, Tom… This is not a dick measuring contest."

"You know that's not what matters anyway. This is better because of me, Cassandra. Because of who I am, no matter how much you pretend to hate me right now. Because I know who you really are and we are the same Cassandra. Our souls are the same."

"You know what they say, Tom. Opposites attract," she quips.

He cuts off her air, increasing the speed of his trusts and placing a hand around her neck just tight enough that the only oxygen she can access she has to use for the noises he is driving from her instead of for her smart little quips.

"And yet you cannot hide the pleasure you get from me. Do you want to come for me, my little harpy?" He teases. He loosens the hold on her neck slightly to let her answer. She just nods. He leans forward to kiss her, stilling inside of her, hissing, "You know that is not how this works. Say it."

"No."

"Say it or I will just use you for my own pleasure and leave you wanting."

"I don't want -"

"Don't tempt me to punish you for lying," he warns. His other hand descends to her clit, teasing it with a finger while he rocks slowly inside of her. She gasps and he pulls her hair back, forcing her to look him in the eyes. "I will stop right now, Cassandra."

"Please, Tom."

"Do you want me, my little harpy?"

"Yes."

"Say it."

"I want you."

"Again."

"I want you, Tom."

"Look at me. Remember that."

He draws it from her as he speeds up and deposits himself within her, relishing in the way she pulses around him as he does. She tries to push free but he just wraps his arms around her back and carries her over to the couch he had added on the other side of the room, sitting down with her straddling him. One arm stays wrapped around her so she cannot escape even now that she is free of his spell. The fingers of his other hand stroke along her face and hair as he looks at her as if he expects everything to be fixed between them now. She does not look away, wanting to see how he reacts. To see if what she says gets any reaction from him.

"I am not just pretending to hate you right now, Tom. What you just did was despicable. I am not a whore for you to command to please your officers when you desire it, and not to touch them when you don't."

"And I am not a pet for you to indulge with your attention when you desire my affection and then cast off and command not to ask for any in return when you don't."

"Tom Riddle trying to play the victim, really?"

"If it's not true then stay with me tonight."

"I can't."

"Point made," he says with a bitter smile. "You brought him here, on what is supposed to be our evening together. Why? Because you wanted to show me you want to be with him instead, Cassandra? All I did was order you to do exactly that."

"In front of - "

"I had him leave when you two started doing more than kissing. Funny, I could have sworn Cain noticed. He didn't seem to feel the need to speak up as he fucked you for me."

She bites her lip and turns her head away from him. The disappointment is evident in her face, and Tom resents even that. It had been anger and hatred when she thought he'd done something she didn't like. When it came to Cain, it's just surprise and disappointment.

He leans forward to whisper in her ear, so sweet and tempting she would swear it was the voice of an angel if she didn't know the devil was the one hovering over her, "Stay."

"I can't," she answers evenly.

He kisses her deeply, pulling away only to run his thumb over her lower lip, his eyes on it as he says, "I hate you too, little harpy."

He hates her for being able to do this to him without even thinking about it, to raise his wrath and his want in ways that he cannot control even when he tries. He hates her for knowing that she will leave without a second thought if he acts out in response to her refusal. He hates her for how much he hates Cain and how little he can do about it. All he can do is wait until he asks, and given her words he is now not so sure of the answer. Not sure enough to keep pushing him to do it, anyway.

"Get in line," she mumbles before pulling his arms away so she can stand up. She fixes her dress and walks over to her desk to look for the receipts from the previous night. "Now, do we actually have something to discuss?"

Tom stands to fix his suit and walks over to the bar cart to fix them drinks, "Yes, actually. I read that you used to do a significant amount of charity work. War relief and things like that."

"Considering it was the only way my dear husband would let me out of his sight, yes."

 _Still bitter_ , Tom thinks. Good. There's no way she's racing into another marriage considering how poorly the last one went.

"You recall the separations after the war? They've never been reversed. Parents still longing for their children after all these years, doesn't it just break your heart?"

"I generally don't concern myself with the troubles of Grindelwald's former acolytes, nor those of their children."

"You did when that child was named Rosier, didn't you?"

"I was simply repaying their kindness. If I understand correctly, you'd like me to start campaigning for everyone's reunification now?"

"It's a popular issue among the purebloods. And sympathetic even to those who are not."

"Ah, I see. It's time to start reforming my reputation publicly. From local murderess to patron saint of the purebloods."

"Yes, and there are certain advantages to starting with this issue."

"Like the personal connections? Cain standing by my side, talking about how it affected his family. Me, crying on the front pages with my former classmates as they hug their younger siblings again. Perhaps mentioning how I always wanted children and never got the chance to have them before becoming a widow, so now that my own family is gone I want to help others. So _sympathetic_ , as you say."

"You know it is, Cassandra. You know it's exactly what you need. An issue that will make it impossible for people to hate you. Something people can't bring themselves to hate. Children. Besides, they're the future, or so I've heard."

"Fine. I'll put together a gala to raise money. Some photo ops to raise public support. Meetings with politicians to get a resolution started. And the bribes, of course, to make sure it gets to a vote."

"Splendid. Speaking of children, I'd like you to start your own charity. Us actually, as I'd like to be the director of it. You still have three country houses, yes?"

"Four, actually, though I don't have any plans to step foot into any of them again."

"Well, you may want to revise those plans, because I have plans to put them to use. As primary schools and boarding for magical children. Those who do not have parents, or whose parents don't take too kindly to their talents. They can be sent there to be with people of their own kind and be introduced to wizarding society. Then once they go off to Hogwarts they can come back for the summers."

The thing is, she truthfully does not like children at all. They are loud and messy and annoying. And those houses are the places some of the worst events of her life happened in, places and memories she'd locked up and sworn to herself she would not revisit. But she recognizes this is a touchy subject for Tom. That what he is asking her to make - to help him make, really - is exactly what he wishes he'd had as a child.

So she just nods and says, "I'll put aside funds for the remodeling and contact the caretakers to open them up next weekend for a viewing. Sunday, I assume?"

* * *

The door to the townhouse creaks as it swings closed behind her. Cassandra flinches, standing still to make sure there's silence in the rest of the house. A pop and flash of something in the corner of her eye makes her jump and raise her wand again. Then she realizes it is only one of the house elves asking if she needs anything and gestures for it to be quiet and leave. Her steps up the stairs are measured. Cain is usually sleeping when she comes back this late. The last thing she needs is him to wake up and start the whole conversation about what she'd said over again.

She is exhausted and can think of nothing she would appreciate more than her own mattress, perfectly firm the way she likes it, with dozens of pillows for her to arrange to her comfort and the whole wide expanse of it to herself. But that is not an option tonight - she'd already told him she'd come back - so her space on Cain's too soft bed will have to do.

The two of them have grown rather… _attached_ over the last month. Some would say clingy. Keeping up with the constant demands on her attention and appeasing them both often takes making compromises. It seems she spends all her hours, waking and frequently not, with at least one of them. When she is not in their company, they both are much too curious about where she is, what they think is subtly querying her about every single second of the day unaccounted for. As if the sheer amount of sex wasn't exhausting enough, frankly.

Cain, at least, actually still seems to treat whether she wants to as a question - more than she can say for Tom, who always imposes his own answer and then asks the question. Still, Cain knows she cannot deny him when he looks sweet or sad, so in practicality she almost never refuses. There is some respite in the fact that Cain only initiates things when they are alone together and she is staying over - or, rather, as he prefers to term it, when she is at home. She knows it is not so much that he disregards that she already has a home. It is just that he assumes that if he keeps saying it she will eventually come to think of this place as her home instead. But it isn't hers, not like the manor is hers. It is his. His family's, in fact. And she is not and has already refused to become a Rosier, no matter how many different ways he hints at the question almost weekly.

Tom, on the other hand, is utterly insatiable. He will pretty much try to fuck her the second he sees her, no matter where they are. In public, of course, his impulses can be resisted and tamed. In private, they run absolutely wild. Often, he will keep playing with her to various degrees for hours, waiting until she is a quaking, crying mess underneath him willing to say whatever he demands in exchange for him finally letting her have her release. Her own personal form of torture, so sublime that sometimes she almost wishes it would never end.

And both are utterly exhausting, as tonight had been a perfect example of. Sharing her attention turns Cain bitter, and he is frequently liable to sulking about it afterwards. Sharing turns Tom even angrier, and he is frequently liable to lash out at her whenever he feels the tables need to be evened again, whenever he feels Cain has more of her than he does. Which is often, given the arrangement.

It is a delicate balancing act, giving Tom enough of what he needs that he isn't going to hurt anybody while cutting off his growing demands for more. A balancing act she can admit she has been failing to really keep since that first day. There are just too many things Tom knows to do to make her lose control, and everyday it feels like she is slipping further and further into him. She does not want to sink completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey readers, was this plot too weird? TBH that's why this chapter took so long (along with me generally feeling blah), I was oscillating between this is brilliant and no way anybody is going to believe they'd do this. But now that it's posted you can just tell me if it's too crazy. Also, is anyone interested in reading a Hogwarts AU of this? Like what would have happened if Cass had transferred there instead of getting married.
> 
> As always, any comments are greatly appreciated and thanks for reading :)


	25. You Made Your Bed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sociopath by StéLouse

The sun is nearly rising when he arrives, the first tinges of light appearing in the foggy sky outside, the windows flecked with spring dew. He is holding his side and leaning over, cursing under his breath when she pulls the door to Cain's townhouse open. She had already been half-awake, as usual, anyway when the house elf had come up to announce a visitor, so she'd insisted on being the one to get out of bed since Cain had work in a few short hours.

"You cannot just…" she starts, about to admonish him for showing up at such an ungodly hour. She sees the blood on his fingers and stops, stepping aside so he can come in. "What the fuck did you do?"

"We can discuss that later, Cassandra," he says, grimacing from the burning in his lungs that results from forcing the sound out of his mouth. She reaches for him, letting him place his other hand against her arm and use her as a crutch as she leads him toward the sitting room. Cain's probably not going to be happy about his couch being stained with blood, but its probably better than letting Tom bleed out at his front door.

"Well if this doesn't kill you, I'm going to myself for being stupid enough to get yourself into whatever situation caused this, apparently alone," she admonishes as she sets him down on the couch. She unbuttons his shirt and carefully starts to move it off of him.

"If you'd stayed I wouldn't have been alone," he bites back before wincing as she pulls his hand off the gash at his side. At the fountain of blood that starts to spill out, she rips a piece of her nightgown off and presses it over the wound. She goes for her wand, but he explains, "Tried to heal it. It won't work."

She stares at the cut, thinking for a second before deciding on the best course of action, "Looks like we are doing things the muggle way for now then. At least until we have time to research something more effective."

She summons over a bottle of firewhisky from the cart and calls for one of the house elves, demanding a sewing kit from them. She pours the firewhisky over another piece of her nightgown before holding the bottle up to him.

"Here, drink," she orders. "Don't look at me like that, I don't have time to brew a pain reliving potion right now so drink."

He listens, taking a long swig. Just when he has swallowed, she shoves the soaked cloth against the gash, sending a burning sensation through him. He curses and mutters, "I think you're going to kill me before this does."

"If you don't shut up, I'm going to go back to bed and let it kill you," she responds, eyes still focused on his injury as she holds her wand in one hand, a lumos spell lighting up the tip to give her a better look at the cut. She takes his other hand in hers before saying, "Hold this. Please try not to break it."

He grips it, pointing it just like she had. She gets to work threading the needle through his skin. His entire vision flashes red with the pain. He grips the couch cushions and loses track of time until he feels her pull away partially and then come back to wrap something around his abdomen tightly. A roll of gauze she must have ordered the house elf to bring. She stands when she is done, but he reaches out to hold her hand and pull her down onto his lap.

She shrugs away from his hand as he tries to raise it up to hold her face and pull her in for a kiss, "We should floo back to mine. I have potions on hand which might help."

"In a few minutes," he responds, leaning his head back against the cushions and letting his eyes slip closed. Given his condition, he cannot pull her against him, but feeling her here is enough. He grips her hips harder to reassure himself that she is real and not just some hallucination from the pain.

"You aren't supposed to fall asleep after an injury, you know."

"I am not falling asleep. Just trying to calm down."

"Tom, we can't do this here."

"Why? It's not any closer than he's seen us be in public."

"You know why."

"I don't."

"It's different."

"I'm not going to let you go."

"You promised."

"Blame me if he asks but stop arguing."

"Tom, I am not - "

He raises his head to meet her eyes, "For Merlin's sake, _please_ , Cassandra."

She falls silent at the sincerity in them. Finally relaxes into his hold and lets him move his hands up to her face. He is about to pull her in when there is a cough from the doorway. She drops away again to turn toward it, but knows that standing up now would just make the whole situation look even more suspicious.

Cain's expression remains carefully neutral as he takes in their positioning as well as the blood on the couch, "Need any help, My Lord?"

She is the one to answer, "Do you have any potions on hand?"

"Pepperup and probably a few pain relievers."

"A potions kit?"

"Yes, in my study. I can set it up in a guest room if you'd like."

She finally stands before answering, "I can get it. Can you help move him instead?"

Cain simply steps forward in response. She rushes past him and up the stairs.

Tom just shrugs him off as he stands too, "Sod off. I don't need your help."

The fact that he remains leaning against the arm of the couch does not instill confidence in his statement. Cain ignores him and steps up to his side, "Don't be stubborn just because I interrupted you trying to fuck my girlfriend again. My arrival should have hardly come as a surprise given that we are in my home."

Tom grimaces as he tries to step forward and finally gives in, placing his arm around Cain's shoulder so he can lean on him for support as they head out of the room and up the stairs.

"Yes, well I am not exactly here by choice."

"As if you didn't do this to yourself just to get her attention."

"Not everything is about fucking your girlfriend."

"Even if you didn't do it on purpose, coming here was."

"How was I to know she would be the one to answer the door?"

"As if you don't know where she is at all times."

"You give me too much credit, Cain."

"She gives you too little, Tom."

They both know he is right, and Tom knows she will stay now. When he asks. Even when he doesn't. He had seen the fear in her eyes when she'd open the door, the flash of pain that had passed through them at the thought of losing him. She has gotten used to having him in her life, and she does not like it when things she has gotten used to change.

And she does stay, all day in that guest room with him, brewing potions for him to take, changing out the stitches and dressing and cleaning out the wound on a regular basis, researching through books pulled from Cain's library until she finally finds a spell that works, that seals the cut and stops the bleeding once and for all. Tom is disappointed when it works. He would have taken the pain for another few days to have her to himself for that time. Now he has no more excuse to stay.

* * *

Tom leaves in the afternoon, fixed up like new and visibly bitter about it as he bids Cain goodbye. She had gone up to nap in their bed as soon as she had been done.

Cain grimaces as he slides in next to her and notices she still smells like him. She surprises him by opening her eyes and noticing the expression on his face.

She dips her head against his chest, not wanting to look up at him as she confronts the elephant in the room. Her voice is muffled by the fabric of her shirt as she starts, "When you walked in - "

Cain wraps his arms around her, pulling her closer, "You don't need to explain. I understand. It's Tom fucking Riddle. It's part of the game. I don't care. As long as it's _just_ that, Cass. Is it?"

"Of course," she says, too eager to respond. Reassuring him. Reassuring herself.

After all, it's Tom Riddle, what else can it be? At some point, he will get bored. At some point, this will no longer be useful to him. At some point, he will feel like he has conquered her and move on to his next project. He does not feel. He does not care. She is nothing more than a pretty, useful thing to him and she knows it. He is nothing more than a good fuck and an avenue to her ambitions to her. Cain… Cain is everything to her. Everything she has left. Everything she has ever wanted.

"I love you," she adds, looking up at him.

Cain sees the longing in her eyes and thinks, _Does she? Or does she just want to?_ If she really loved him, she wouldn't do this to him, would she?

He shakes his head. She isn't doing anything. It's all Tom. He can't let Tom convince him. Can't let Tom get into his head. She does. She loves him.

He needs to ask her as soon as possible. Fuck plans. Fuck hesitation. Fuck Tom. She will say yes when it comes to it. He knows she will.

"I love you too, Cass," he says, placing a kiss against her forehead. "Now get some rest. I'll have the elves prepare dinner."

* * *

She sleeps until nine before rolling over and realizing the time. He hadn't woken her, and now she is ravenous - though grateful for the rest. She stumbles up and into the bathroom, still half groggy. She twists the shower knob to turn on the hot water before walking into the closet to the small section of her clothes on the back wall. She finds a long-sleeve red shirt, a black skirt that falls just below the knees, and a floor length grey robe. No stockings, but this should do to keep her warm enough.

She could live here if she wanted to. It is comfortable enough. More comfortable, if she will admit it to herself, than her raggedy little manor. There are dozens of rooms. She could have a study and a library and a potions room and a dueling room and a reading room - and someone to do all of those things with. Someone besides Tom when he comes over on his weekly visits.

She pushes the thought away as she steps into the shower, as her eyes glaze over the gold-leafed tiles and along the ornately carved crown molding. No, she does not belong in a place like this. She is more comfortable among her ruins. At least they are hers.

By the time she wanders down to the dinning room, looking for him, her stomach is grumbling but she's started to ignore it. She'd been hungry before, hungry for years. The signals of her body hardly even make a dent in her conscience now.

Instead of an elaborately set table, there is a picnic basket waiting for her. She laughs when she catches his eye as he turns around after placing a bottle of wine in it and closing it, "What's this?"

"A surprise," he says with a smile, putting his hands on her hips and turning her around to face away from him. She feels a slip of fabric against her skin before black silk covers her eyes and he whispers in her ear, "And I would like to keep it that way until I'm ready, so no peaking."

She teases, "You could have at least warned me we are going outside so I could have dressed in something more appropriate."

"Maybe we aren't. Anyway, isn't that what warming charms are for?"

He slips his hand into hers, holding it firmly as he pulls her along. She maintains a sense of direction long enough to figure out they _are_ going outside, then feels the wind on her skin only briefly before they start swirling. She reaches for him, a hand on his shoulder to steady her as they land after the apparition.

There is a different smell in the air now, familiar but she cannot quite place it. It is warmer here, just a touch, but the lack of wind helps. The ground underneath her feet is soft. She tries to piece together where they are as he leads her along again but the list of possible guesses is too long for her to narrow down.

Finally, after what feels like minutes of walking, he speaks up, "Your table, my lady."

She reaches out but finds no solid surface. She's confused for a second before he guides her to her knees and she feels the blanket over the grass underneath her.

"Do I get to see where we are now?" she asks impatiently.

"Not yet," he mutters before pressing a kiss to her lips. "You trust me, right, Cass?"

"More than anyone," she mumbles back.

He pulls away and a few seconds pass before she feels something else press against her lips. She opens it and takes a bite. A strawberry. She cannot help the giggle that escapes her mouth, and then the little jump when she feels his hand skim her side and he kisses her again. "Why, Cain Rosier, I never knew you were so mischievous," she whispers as he pulls away again.

"If you think this is mischievous, then you are _really_ going to be surprised later."

"Come on, the suspense is killing me," she says. Another strawberry presses against her lips and she opens again, this time lapping her tongue out to lick his fingers too. A small groan slips out of his mouth.

"Do that again and I'm not sure we'll even get to dinner," he warns in a joking tone as he pulls away. He changes his position, sitting behind her with his legs on either side of hers. She unfolds her legs and leans back against him. He must be leaning against something, because he doesn't sway back even an inch as she does. He keeps alternating between kissing her and feeding her bits of food. Cheese. Champagne. Strawberries. Chocolate. It's barely a meal, but that is not what she is focused on right now. No, it's his fingers wandering along her skin, surprising her, that draw her attention. It's the fact that she can feel him pressed against her back that keeps her mind occupied.

Finally, his hand drifts between her legs, the sudden sensation so overwhelming that she tries to snap them shut. His other hand lands on her thigh, keeping them pulled apart with his strong arms as he whispers to her, "Trust me, Cass."

His lips skim against her neck and she loses herself to the feeling of his mouth and his fingers stroking against her. His other hand relaxes and slips up her body, tugging her shirt loose from her skirt before slipping underneath the fabric. She throws her head back against his shoulder and her mouth opens in a silent cry when his fingers just barely graze over her, teasing. She reaches behind her and runs her fingers through his hair as she braces herself against him. Her other hand comes up to the arm with the hand between her legs, gripping his bicep.

He presses into her in response and she cries out, "Cain."

"As much as I love your name coming out of my lips, you have to be quiet for me today, Cass. Can you do that?"

She shakes her head no. The fact that she cannot see what he is doing is only making everything more intense, and she doesn't think she can control her reactions.

She can feel his smirk when he presses his lips against her neck again. His hand slides out from her shirt and comes up to cover her mouth. She moans as he pushes into her again, his fingers stifling the sound.

"How quickly do you think I can make you come for me, princess? Or should I go nice and slow, keep you waiting?" he whispers in her ear. Cruel since he knows she cannot answer.

She shakes her head no again. His fingers press into her mouth and she eagerly sucks them, imagining they are something else.

"I am going to fuck you so good later," he whispers, his breath skimming across her ear and making her whole body erupt in goosebumps. "You want that, don't you, Cass? You want to be with me? Only me?"

He is so familiar. Somehow this place is so familiar. She feels safe in his arms, pushed just far enough that there is some excitement but not far enough that she's uncomfortable. Not far enough that anything hurts. Not far enough that she thinks it might. She feels like if this was it, if he was _it_ for the rest of her life, maybe she could convince herself that she was finally happy. Merlin knows he has enough happiness to spare.

She nods frantically, almost there, wanting to see him and taste him and hold him. She is glad she can't speak because then she might have to specify what she is nodding to. Because it is not _only_ him and Tom will somehow find out and make her regret it if she promises him that. If she lets him believe she is his.

Waves of pleasure roll over her and she shakes and yelps, the sound muffled. She melts back into him as he pulls his hands away, resting them against her sides instead, holding her just softly enough to remind her he is still there.

She sighs and whispers, "I love you, Cain."

It sounds real this time. He wants her so bad, but he is not crazy enough to do that here.

 _Tom would be._ The thought flashes through his head before he can stop it and he almost gives in, but then he reminds himself he is a gentlemen. And Tom is not fucking her, no matter how much he wants him to believe he is. There is no way she would let him. There is no way she would do that to him.

Her lips pressing against his after she turns her head and kisses along his skin until she finds them bring him back to reality. He responds, "I love you too, Cass. With all my heart."

She feels his smile when he kisses her again. She laughs and asks, "Will you take this thing off now?"

He undoes the blindfold, slipping it to the side and discarding it on the ground. She blinks before acclimating to the scene. They are on his family's property, the rectangular lake off to the side, the hedge maze in the distance on the other side, the tree he is leaning against the same one they used to have so many conversations under the shade of as teenagers. She knows the house is only a hundred or so paces behind them and suddenly understands why minimal noise had been imperative.

"I always dreamed of having you here," he whispers to her when he sees the recognition flash across her face. A small chuckle erupts from his throat when a smile dances across her lips in response, "I dreamed of having you everywhere, really."

"I must admit I had a few thoughts as well," she says back, noticing the red tinge that blooms across his cheeks in response. "Don't act surprised, you were very handsome. I'm sure you knew all the girls swooned over you."

"I didn't know that included you," he answers truthfully. She had treated any physical contact like a gift to him with very hard limits. Had been so diligent at avoiding his advances. Always, until that night, and it still stung him to think of how that had ended.

"I loved you too, you know. I wanted to say it then, but…"

"But what, Cass? Wouldn't things have been easier if you had?" he rushes out at her silence, how badly he wishes things _had_ been different showing in his tone.

She laughs. This time there is no real joy in it. She says sharply, "No."

He does not ask why, knowing already that it will only sour her mood. He knows she thinks his parents wouldn't have wanted them to be together. He knows they had, but she'd never been willing to believe that. He just mutters, "It doesn't matter. We have now."

She sees the hope in his eyes and wants to laugh again but knows it would crush him.

 _Do you think they would really let me have you now?_ The thought pops into her head and she shoves it away, reminding herself his mother had practically begged her to marry him. Still, she'd found a way to make sure that didn't happen in the end, hadn't she? She had probably never approved of it at all. Had probably pushed her away on purpose so she wouldn't sully their family name. Had probably been putting on an act for Cain's benefit in public and been relieved when she'd able to convince Cassandra not to go through with it in private. They never thought she was good enough then - why would they think she is good enough now?

She just reaches for the champagne glasses, taking a drink before smiling at him and daring, "I'll race you to the lake."

* * *

Hours - and a few drying spells later - he slips them through the doors from the garden to the ballroom and they try to walk as quietly as they can up the stairs and down the hall to his old bedroom. Another fantasy of his. Another way to remind her of what is between them, what they have that Tom never will. Growing up together. Years and years of first experiences. Years of trust, of fun, of happiness. Happiness he knows she would give anything to be able to get back. If this is just misplaced nostalgia as Tom claims it is, then he will use it.

They are stopped when his mother rounds the corner just as they reach the door. She smirks at the blush on Cain's face and explains, "The wards alerted me to your presence. Just wanted to make sure it was not a trick. Hello, Cassandra."

"Hello, Mrs. Rosier."

"Evangeline, please," she says with a sickly sweet smile. "So nice to see you again."

Cassandra copies her tone, all sugar even though her eyes are glaring daggers, "The pleasure is all mine, I'm sure, Mrs. Rosier."

"Given the late hour, I will leave you two to get some rest. Breakfast will be at eight. I insist that you both join. I'll have the house elves do up something special."

"I apologize, Mrs. Rosier, but I have a meeting tomorrow."

"My, your work schedule must be even busier than the papers make it out to be if you have an 8 a.m. meeting on a Sunday, Cassandra."

"9 a.m., actually," she corrects. Cain has already done his own digging to figure out what this meeting is - after the casino, he wanted to make sure he knew everything, or as close to it as people would dare to say. Sunday mornings she helps Tom with improvements at the potions lab.

"Wonderful. Then I will make sure the food is ready promptly at 8 a.m. so you can have breakfast before you depart."

"How kind," she says with a forced smile. "Thank you, Mrs. Rosier."

The older woman forces a smile back and says, "Goodnight, Cassandra. Cain."

She turns and walks back down the hall. Cain opens the door to his room to let Cassandra step in and then says, "I'll be back in a minute, Cass."

He nearly sprints down the hallway to catch up with her before calling out, "Actually, mother, I need to speak to you."

"I am sure it can wait until the morning."

"It can't," he says. He adds quietly, "I need the family ring."

His mother waits until they have reached the staircases again - far enough away to be out of earshot - to respond, "We will talk about this in the morning, Cain."

"I want to ask - "

"We will talk about this in the morning. With your father."

"Is this your way of telling me you don't approve?"

"Cain, please, not right now."

"I'll still ask her anyway, even if you won't bless it."

"It's not that I don't - "

"So it's father that doesn't approve then?"

"Just wait until after breakfast, darling."

"You two have been bothering me about making heirs since I graduated from Hogwarts. Now that I finally found someone I want to - "

"It's her, Cain," she nearly shouts, exasperated, She sighs before returning to a whisper to explain, "Cassandra is not going to marry you."

"She loves me."

"She does."

"So why wouldn't she?"

"She will not marry into this family, Cain."

"You cannot tell me who to marry, mother."

"I am not. She told me she wouldn't," she says.

There is an awkward pause as Cain stares at her, the devastation showing in his eyes.

She tries to explain, "Certain things were said… You have to understand, things were different then. Your father didn't know how you felt about her. He just wanted to protect the family. We can fix it. We will fix it for you, son. We will talk some sense into her. In time. But you cannot ask now."

So she had been right. They had never stood a chance then. He asks through gritted teeth, "What things were said, mother?"

"It is not necessary to discuss them now."

"Clearly you already have discussed them with her. I think it is my right to know what that conversation entailed."

"You two were just 13. Your father wanted to make sure she wasn't being your friend for the wrong reasons."

"So father told her she wouldn't be allowed in the family. When we were 13 years old. Barely teenagers and he already felt the need to make her feel worthless and unwelcome."

"He didn't know, darling. He thought he was protecting you."

"He thought he was protecting his Gringotts account, more like it. And you, mother, what did you say to make her hate you?"

"I didn't - "

"I noticed the way she spoke to you. What did you say?"

"I just gave her some advice."

"About what? Who she is fit to marry instead of me?"

"About who she should be _friends_ with. From what I hear, that advice fell on deaf ears."

"Wonderful. So a decade ago father screwed up my first chance with her and now you screwed up my second."

"Cain, I was just worried about you. About whether she would hurt you. And I was right to worry. She's been seen with Tom - "

"Yes, more and more often since you pushed her into his arms. It was that night that you gave her that advice, wasn't it? At the ball? I wondered why she changed her mind about dancing with him, but I would have never guessed my own mother was the cause."

"I will fix it, Cain. I will apologize to her and convince her to marry you."

He scoffs, "What are you going to fix? The fact that, because of you, a half-blood is hanging on to the woman who is meant to be mine? The fact that, because of father, she still thinks she isn't worthy of me? By the time you work up the humility to apologize for what you two have done to her over all these years and she overcomes her stubbornness enough to accept it, she will be married to that bastard instead of me."

"Just give me a few months, dear."

"Give me the ring, mother."

"No. Not yet."

"Fine. I'll buy a new one."

"Please, Cain, just wait a few months to ask. She won't say yes if you do it now, and we both know how you would react to that."

"She will! She will marry me. Not this family. _Me_. If I have to assure her we will never see the two of you again to get her to say yes, I will. I will do anything for her, mother."

"Go to sleep. You will see some sense in the morning. With a clear head, you will realize that I am right. Your father and I will fix this for you. Just wait."

"You don't understand what you are asking me to wait through," he says before turning away and stalking down the hall.

"If you insist, you can have it," she hisses after him, causing him to stop in his tracks. "But it's at Gringotts anyway, which is closed tomorrow. Please, Cain, take the day to think about it. I am not telling you not to ask. Just to let us arrange things more favorably before you do. If you still want it, I will go with you myself Monday morning."

He turns back and nods, "Monday."

He thinks as he walks back toward his room. He had wanted to ask tonight. By the lake. But he had forgotten that Tom had destroyed all the jewelry he'd bought for her. He had almost owled his sister for a ring, any ring, but after their last exchange he knew how she would have responded. Anyway, she doesn't deserve just any ring. She deserves that ring. His family ring. The one his father's mother had worn all her life. It is said to contain rubies and diamonds from the original Tudor Crown. Fit for a queen. Fit for her.

And now he is not sure again if she would take it even if he did have it.

He pushes down his frustration as he reaches the door to his room, pulling it open to find her curled up in the bed, her clothes already crumpled up on the floor nearby, her eyes fixed on a book that she had somehow managed to pull from somewhere.

Suddenly it comes to him. He doesn't have to trick her into having his heir. She had said she wanted it. He just has to neglect doing the usual charms. And make sure she is too busy to do them. Then keep fucking her until an "accident" happens. It doesn't matter if they are married or not. Surely Tom will not want her after that.

He shakes the idea off. No. That isn't him. He isn't going to do that to her.

Well, not on purpose. But maybe, if they do slip a few times and something happens, it won't be so bad. Maybe she will change her mind about his family when she has a new member of it inside of her. Maybe they can make their own family, without them. Maybe if he promises her that she will accept it.

Maybe if he promises her that she still won't and it will break his heart.

It is all too fucking much to think about and he is undressed and sprawled out on his back in the bed, staring at the ceiling while his mind continues to spiral _down, down, down_.

She finishes her page and turns to him, her eyebrow scrunching up at the curiously blank expression on his face, then further at the mental wall he has built up in his brain to keep her from his thoughts.

"Everything alright, Cain?" she asks, turning to her side.

"Just tired," he mutters, closing his eyes.

She smiles, hoping it will draw one for him, as she turns over and straddles his hips, sitting on top of him. She teases, "That's too bad because I thought you made me a promise."

He does not respond. She leans forward, tangling her hands into his and whispering softly, "Hey, Prince Charming, at least give me a goodnight kiss. Please."

He opens his eyes, staring up at her. He swallows before working up the courage to say, "I want us to try, Cass."

"What?"

"For a child. I want us to try. We can decide what happens afterward, whether you want to get… we can decide after, I don't care. I just want to have a part of you."

"I don't think that would be a good idea, Cain."

"Why not?"

She looks away before answering, "He wasn't too happy with the prospect. He is concerned that it would be a distraction and we have… we're planning something big, in a year or so. It's a very tight timetable and - "

"And he can find someone else if he needs to. I can't. I won't."

"You don't understand, Cain. It's not an option. He made that very clear."

He grits his teeth and tries not to sound as angry as he is, "I understand perfectly."

Her eyes narrow at him for a second before she controls her reaction. She forces a smile back onto her face and tries to reassure him, "After this year, we can - "

He cuts her off again, exasperated. Tired of her acting like they are equal partners when it is convenient for her and like she is just another follower when it is not. Tired of everything. His tone is even as he says, "You know, only one person is going to wear a crown in his kingdom, Cass."

"And how do you know it will be his kingdom in the end, Cain?"

She's not implying… He looks into her eyes. She is. Fuck, that's… _fuck_.

This is what Tom gets, he thinks, for falling for her. For exempting her. For lifting her above all of them. A killer at his side as dangerous as he is, blessed with Tom's mark and everything Tom does not have. Money. Fame. Pure blood. This is what Tom gets for hurting her. He sees how intently she is starting at him and realizes, no, this is what Tom gets for hurting _him_.

But no. There is absolutely no way that would work. No way he won't sneak into her mind or sense her intentions when the time comes to turn them into concrete actions. No way she will actually turn on him when they have finished their work together, not with the way they look at each other. Not with the way she had saved him today, had taken care of him so carefully, had done everything she could to reduce the pain he felt by even an ounce. She might think she can, but he knows she will not be able to when the time comes. Tom is not her husband. He has built her back up, not broken her. Tom is not her parents. He may have hurt her once, but he had stopped at that. Tom is someone she cares about. He is someone who cares about her, the thing she has been looking for her entire life and had only ever found in him before.

"Don't even think about it, Cass."

"I am just saying, anything could happen. Allegiances change. Winds shift. People die."

" _He_ does not die, Cassandra."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing, just… Drop it, please."

She smiles again. It reaches her eyes and he is almost fooled. She blinks and says, "I was just joking, of course. _Our Lord_ will reign soon enough. And then we will be free to do whatever you want, Cain. To go anywhere you want."

Cain wants to roll his eyes and mumble, _Right_. _Sure_. Tom Riddle will most definitely stop stalking you once he's Lord Voldemort. He will most definitely not send me off to some foreign country or something and have you kneeling in front of his throne 24/7. Or maybe just sitting on his lap in it like she had been earlier, in his sitting room.

He is reminded of the last meeting, two weeks ago, when he'd pulled her off for a private conversation nearly as soon as they'd arrived and she'd come back wearing a triple strand of pearls tight around her neck, a large emerald shining at the center. Like a collar, Cain had thought, as he watched Tom lead her around the room with a hand on her lower back and a smirk that screamed out the message he was trying to send.

And she had looked happy. Was it real then, or was it like that smile she just gave him, so close to real even he hadn't been able to tell the difference? He hadn't been as close as he is now, hadn't had the chance to inspect her long enough and carefully enough to notice the feeling that something was not quite right.

He reminds himself it does not matter what she feels or does not feel for Tom. He cannot be distracted by that right now. He just has to get her to say yes to him. Then Tom will leave her alone and none of this will be a problem anymore. No more arguments, he decides. No more bringing him up when they are alone together. Just fucking her senseless and making her happy.

He smirks up at her and flips them over in one swift motion, pushing her under him and their lips together before he says, "Fine. Then let's practice instead."

She kisses him back and shakes her head, pushing on his shoulders. Worry flashes through him for a second - maybe bringing it up had been too premature, maybe making it clear that was what he wanted had ruined it between them forever - before she playful says, "You got to be in control outside. I get to be in control this time."

He follows her lead, letting her turn them over so she is on top again. She surprises him by pulling something from underneath her pillow. The blindfold he had used on her. He cocks an eyebrow but lifts his head to let her secure it.

"Trust me?" she whispers against his lips.

Well, considering she had just been plotting a coup, that's a bit of a loaded choice right now. He just nods and lifts his head to kiss her again. She pulls away, her lips traveling down his body, shocking him every time they make contact with his skin, seemingly weaving a random pattern across his chest. Finally, she pulls off his boxers carefully before crawling back up to him and lowering her mouth over his cock. He groans when her tongue travels along him. Within minutes, he is nearly as painfully ready to burst as he was outside.

When her lips start wandering along the rest of her skin again, he moans out, "Merlin, Cass, I only _threatened_ to tease you."

Her real laugh chimes across the air, surprising him with how close she is, "Even princes have to ask for what they want."

He reaches out blindly, feeling for the sharp jut of her hip bone. He pulls forward until he feels her aligned with him then responds, "I don't ask, I take."

She kisses him before obliging him by guiding herself into him. He swears as she slides down. She picks up his other hand, pulling it to her hip as well before commanding, "Then take."

Without being able to see her, he has to concentrate on the sensations to be able to guide her. Has to focus and feel every inch of movement, and every one is so exquisite.

She leans her chest down against his again to whisper in his ear, "Fuck me, Cain. No charms tonight. No potions in the morning. One night, as many tries as you can manage. If it takes, it's meant to be, isn't it?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm drunk and not gonna lie, I didn't edit this. Will probably go back and catch some typos later. Let me know if you see any that bother you. Or even better, if you want to beta read this story and help me nail down the final plot so I can kill my darlings and get back to regular updates.
> 
> As always, would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter or the story in general :) Please give me some much needed human contact and leave a review or message if you can.


	26. Partners in Crime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teeth by 5 Seconds of Summer

Another Wednesday, another appointment. This time they stumble directly into bed. More accurately, onto the lounge in her sitting room. She had refused to touch him on Sunday, blaming the fact that he still needed to recover from his injury, and he is ravenous.

He doesn't let her get a word out before kissing her. Lays her down on the lounge and then absolutely ruts into her as he holds her hands over her head and swallows any objections she makes with his mouth on hers. Doesn't even bother to remove any clothes from either of them, just moving them far enough out of the way to take what he needs.

He finishes her off three times before finishing himself. After all, she had taken such good care of him. He's going to take _such good_ care of her. Then to top it off, he slips down to his knees and pulls her legs open to start licking her, prompting her to whimper out, "Too much."

He laughs before running his tongue along her again, "You always say that right before I give you one of the best orgasms of your life."

"Merlin, you're so cocky. Maybe I'll just - " her voice is cut off by a moan as her back arches up off the sofa, her legs shaking around him in response to the probing of his tongue. He pulls away right when she's about to tip over the edge.

"If you insist, I can stop," he teases, just his breath brushing against her enough to cause her to whimper. "Just leave you here tied up, unable to give yourself relief, to show you how I felt waiting so many days for you."

"So many?" she repeats with an exasperated sigh. "It was what, three? Don't be cruel."

"Five."

"Counting generously again I see."

"Be a good girl and ask nicely for what you want. Maybe I'll still give it to you."

"You are such a - " she whimpers again as returns to his ministrations briefly. As he predicted, she can't help but crack. "Fuck, Tom, _please_."

"What do you want?"

"You, Tom. I want you to - "

"One would hardly guess by the fact that you went _five_ days without touching me," he says while running his fingers along her thighs.

"Just tell me what you are going to demand now," she murmers, voice strained.

"I want to spend three nights per week with you, Cass. At least. Here. The specific days can be flexible depending on our calendars."

"I can't - " she gasps as he brings his palm down against her, the sharp pain mixing with pleasure and driving her nearly there, leaving her at a loss for words. So so close, waiting far too long. But how is she supposed to explain her sudden absences to Cain?

"No argument. Only yes or no," he says. She opens her mouth to try to negotiate downward, but before she can he kisses her to stop her, then continues talking as if he already knows what she is thinking. He aways does. She hates that. She'd learned occlumency for a reason. "It's a fair split, Cassandra. You and I both know I could ask for more."

He returns to his assault and ramps her up again. When she arches back up and starts whimpering, he teases, "Do you want to come, princess? Give me the answer I want."

Now she knows he is just mocking her by using that pet name. Really, he is mocking Cain, even though there's no way he'd know about it. She wants to push him away. She wants to press him closer. Her feelings toward Tom have always been as much of a dichotomy as he himself is. Half desire, half revulsion. She always wants to know better, to be better than to give in to him. But she can never manage to withstand him in the end. He is like a magnet, all of his best parts attracting all of her worst ones, and his pull is too strong for her to resist.

The world's already gone white behind her eyes, she's already teetering on the edge when she feels him start to pull away again. Afraid of losing how good she is feeling right now, she whimpers out, "Yes. Yes, Tom. Whatever you want. Three nights. Please - "

"Good girl," he purrs in response, a smirk on his face. He stands to lean over and impale her again. She's already so impossibly tight and sore that she thinks she is going to burst into tears at the feeling until he starts moving and pleasure explodes through her instead.

"So perfect," he praises, holding her hips so he can drive into her deeper as she trashes under him, desperately trying to reach her long-awaited orgasm despite his frustratingly slow pace. "I love to see you unravel like a pretty little present made just for me. And you are. Just for me. I'm going to fuck you on every surface in this house. Fuck you so good the only thing you can think about _every_ night is me. Do you want that, Cass?"

"Shut up," she exclaims with a contended sigh as her thighs grip him tighter and she pulls him around, pushing herself on top smoothly. She presses her hands against his chest, taking control, as she continues, "Focus on fucking me instead of talking about doing it."

The sight of her bouncing on top of him is enough to make him need to come instantly. He takes her hands in his, pulling them down, pulling her down. His right hand slips up to the back of her throat to pull her in for a kiss as his left reaches back to cup her ass and urge her on.

"Tom, _gods_ ," she whimpers against his lips as her orgasm hits her. He jerks inside of her, filing her, as his own orgasm hits in response.

"Did I fuck you well enough?" he teases, the same cocky smirk still on his face.

"I absolutely hate you," she manages to murmur.

"Mhm, I hate you too, Cassandra," he mumbles back before kissing her again.

Once he is able to move again, he pulls her up and lays her along his chest as they both catch their breath. When she recovers, she runs her fingers along his abdomen, pushing the fabric of his white dress shirt out of the way until she reaches the jagged scar on his side. She examines it for a second, checking that it is fading quickly enough not to be of any concern before she asks, "So, are you going to explain this?"

"I was trying to steal something," he says with a shrug.

"Wow, don't go so fast, I might get lost," she says sarcastically with a slight eye roll. She waves her hand and a coffee tray comes floating onto the table by their side. She shifts, sitting upright again. She summons her cup to her, milk and sugar already mixed in, and takes a sip before prodding him again.

"What and from where?" she asks. He takes the cup from her hands and takes a long sip for himself, earning him the objection, "Excuse me, you have your own coffee right there."

"I like yours," he responds with a raised brow.

"A thief through and through," she quips before summoning the other cup to her and moving to switch them. He distracts her by answering.

"A wand from the workshop of a very famous wandmaker in Germany."

"I don't really count that as an answer to _where_ , but since I can guess you mean Gregorovitch I suppose that doesn't really matter. Why couldn't you just buy it?"

"It's not for sale."

"Why not?"

"That I cannot tell you."

"Do you still want it?"

"Yes."

She shifts off of him, tucking into the space between his body and the arm of the lounge as she asks, "Do you have a better plan this time or should I brush up on my healing magic?"

"Yes, I do," he responds before bringing a slice of her favorite cake floating over.

She had mentioned once she gets these pastries from Paris once a week. Has been getting them from the same bakery for years now, even when she didn't live here. A way to mark the passage of time and a reward for surviving another week, he guesses. A relic from before she had him and these meetings as benchmarks instead. He likes to think she keeps getting them just for his visits.

"Yet again, not a real answer," she complains before snatching the plate out of the air before he can. He knew she would do that, which is why there are two forks. He takes a piece and eats it before continuing.

"You asked me if I have a plan. I do. Now you have to ask me what that plan is."

"What is your plan?"

"You. We go in together. Two Fridays from now, after he closes the shop. He will be leaving to visit his daughter for the entire weekend, so we will have plenty of time to slip in through the back and get to the wand."

"Did you try to slip in through the back last time? Didn't work out so well, did it? If there's that many protections around the back door, might it not be better to go in through the front? Maybe I can distract him while - "

"Perhaps, if one could reach the back more easily by going in through the front. But Nott already tried that with unfortunate effects."

She finally lifts her eyes from the cake back up to his, her intent stare showing how serious she is despite the fact that her tone remains casual, "Should I be offended that you trusted him more than me, or angry that you thought you could do it alone after he failed?"

"Neither," he answers, his free hand stroking along her side. "There were other considerations at play in both situations."

"Like the desire to get yourself cut in half, Tom?"

"I thought I could do it alone. Clearly, I was mistaken. But you cannot blame me for being unwilling to put you in danger when I believed it was unnecessary, Cass. I got through most of the protections. The first layer of wards was easy enough, and it should be even quicker with both of us working through them. The second layer with the runes I already know the solution to. It was a surprise trap on the way to the final vault that was the problem last time, and now that is clearly no longer a surprise."

"And the final vault itself. Do you know anything about it?"

"Yes. I caught a glimpse. The door is made up of four large dials with the Cyrillic alphabet on them, which I assume you know how to read per the books in your library. We will have to try to guess the combination, though there are spells to identify which ones have been used so there will be a limited number of valid words we can narrow it down to. However, I am not sure how many attempts will be allowed."

"Assuming we get into it, will you even know what you are looking for?"

"Yes. A wand."

"Looking for a specific wand in a wand maker's studio. Surely that won't be like finding a needle in a haystack."

"It's a rather distinctive one. I will know it when I see it."

"All this, yet you still don't trust me enough to tell me what's so special about it."

"If it helps, I didn't trust Nott with that either."

"Yes, but you're not fucking Nott. At least not to my knowledge, though I suppose with the way he acts about you I shouldn't be surprised if you actually are."

"No, I am certainly not fucking Nott," he answers with a chuckle.

If he was being honest with her, he would tell her he's not fucking anybody else. Hasn't since their first kiss. That anybody else would pale so much in comparison it wouldn't even be worth the time. But she _is_ fucking someone else, so clearly the feeling isn't reciprocal. Besides, it is funny to see the little pout she tries to hide whenever she is jealous.

* * *

It takes almost until sunrise because the wards and ruins had been changed, so they'd had to redo the solutions to them, but they get through to the vault then back out uninjured. Tom is too euphoric with the success to wait to celebrate it.

"You are brilliant, my little harpy," he whispers into her ear as he presses against her back, her hands braced against the wall in front of them while he dips his fingers into her in an alleyway only a few streets away from the shop.

She can't answer. His other hand is pressed over her mouth to stifle the moans she has been making so they don't get caught. He pumps his fingers slowly inside of her again, feeling her clench around them and exhale a sharp breath into his palm as he pushes her over the edge.

"And so beautiful when you come for me," he hisses. "I would give you more but I still need you to be able to walk. I'm going to fuck you properly when we get home. We'll spend the rest of the weekend in bed. Shall we?"

She smoothes out her skirt and turns back to him, her face still flushed as she asks, "I take it you are happy with my assistance?"

Happy is not the right word. He's elated. She had been the one to realize - on only the second try - that the letters were meant to stand in for numbers. Specifically, for the year Gregorovitch had made his first wand. _Successful men always want to show off their accomplishments to the world. Even their secrets shout out their achievements. They can't help it_ , she'd said. She is right. He can't wait until a day when he can show off everything he's done. Everything he has. Her.

"Yes, I am," he answers as he takes her hand and guides her down the cobblestone streets toward the apparition point.

She pulls away from him so quickly he almost misses it while he is distracted by the smile she suddenly throws him, "Wonderful. So you won't be too cross when I tell you I have plans for today. As it's already been three times this week…"

The elder wand is in his grip and all he wants to use it for is the one thing he cannot do.

He does not bother asking her to change her plans. He knows she won't. That she already feels the balance has tilted too far in his favor, and him demanding more so soon will only make her want to tilt it back. He has to wait for her to adjust to it first.

"I understand," he says flatly, controlling his voice just as much as he is controlling the anger swirling inside of him. "I am sure I can arrange other celebrations for tonight. Monday."

She laughs, "If you aren't too tired from tonight."

Despite her casual tone, there's that little pout. The almost imperceptible way she slips back into his side as if asserting that she is the one that belongs there. The fact that she doesn't pull away when he takes her hand again. Signs she does not want anyone else to have him just as much as he does not want anyone else to have her.

* * *

Tom sighs as the door of his private office closes behind him on Monday. Looks like he is losing another night with her. Why do people have to cause so much trouble? He writes her a letter to set up an appointment for him that evening, then another to Cain. At least she cannot spend the night with him instead if they are both occupied with this business.

When there's a knock on the door an hour later, he waves it open and the prick walks in, as proper and proud as always, his tone far too sarcastic as he declares, "What do I get the pleasure of doing for you today, My Lord?"

"It appears we have some competition regarding the World Cup," he drawls back while twirling his brand new wand in between his fingers. "Have you heard anything?"

Cain shrugs, "Collections have been normal. A few of the players were hesitant, but no more so than usual. Why, what have you heard?"

"Avery heard somebody has been bribing the players to perform against our interests."

"One guess as to who that somebody is. Has it been substantiated?"

"Travers captured one of his field accountants this morning. He's been very _cooperative_ so far. Travers and Macnair have been sent out to speak to the players who supposedly flipped. I expect you to follow up with them when you go to check on the trainings this week, senior undersecretary."

Cain sits down in the chair across from Tom before saying, "I thought the point of all that effort in the first few years was so you - we - didn't have to do the dirty work anymore."

"Sometimes a dip in the mud can be a good reminder."

"And sometimes it can be a dangerous way to get caught. I can't risk my credibility with the diplomats with claims of undue pressure from their players."

"You never get caught, do you?" Tom says before mocking, "No, Cain Rosier can do no wrong in the eyes of the wizarding elite. He's just too nice, too charming to do anything bad. Luckily anyone who even suspects him gets imperiod into destroying their own career and credibility before they can say anything. You may only be able to manage the cruciatus under very specific circumstances, but at least those big blue eyes are good for something."

Cain's jaw ticks but he does not respond to Tom's jabs. Instead, he picks up the glass of firewhisky Tom has already poured for him and taking a swig before looking back at him. What feels like minutes of silence pass this way, the two just staring at each other, before he speaks up.

"You know Tom, sometimes I think we used to be friends. I know you never looked at the others that way but - in school, it was different between us, wasn't it? Maybe it was just the fact that I was the first one, or maybe we are more similar than either of us would like to admit, but I almost thought you actually liked me. Trusted me. Was I wrong?"

"Not substantially."

"So what changed? You're really so bitter because she likes - "

"I told you not to see her. You defied me."

"After knowing her, can you really blame me? Would you have done anything differently if you were in my shoes?"

"Well I'm not, because people who aren't spending their great-grandfather's money don't buy alligator skin loafers. In case you forgot, we aren't playing by the same rules, Cain. I lead. You follow. Something you have failed to do since the very first day you saw her again."

"So it's the same old thing then, is it? I was raised with everything you wish you had. Now including her. Lucky me, I get a lifetime worth of your resentment for something neither of us had any control over."

Tom takes a sip from his own glass before mumbling, "Yes, the same old thing."

The appointment is set for nine, and per his expectations the wards around the manor are down to accommodate it. Easy enough to creep in undetected and arrive at the door to his study just in time for him to start to wonder where she is.

Tom smiles as he leans against the open door, knocking on the wood to get his attention. He looks up and rolls his eyes, "Should have expected you, really. Do you have Cassandra wrapped around your little finger or does she have you wrapped around hers, Riddle?"

"Good afternoon, Malfoy."

"Please do tell her I regret that she wasn't the one to actually attend this _meeting_."

Tom steps toward the desk as he says, "I won't."

"Right, too afraid she'll choose a real wizard -" Malfoy looks over as Cain walks in and spells the doors shut. He smirks, "You two are still working together? What's that like?"

"I'm fine, how are you Malfoy?" Cain responds with a polite smile as he walks up besides Tom. Ever cordial, as if all three of them don't know this visit is anything but.

"Do you two take turns or does she choose who she feels like fucking that night?"

"Please shut up. We are here on business," Tom says, wand twirling in his fingers.

"Or is it more like a reward system for you Rosier, every time you follow his orders you get a few hours with her?"

Cain maintains a straight face, "I have no clue what you are trying to imply, Malfoy."

"Come off it, half the pureblood elite knows she's fooling around on you. It's what everybody whispers behind your back when they see all three of you at the same party. Quite the modern arrangement. Even by muggle standards, I would guess, right Riddle?"

"I wouldn't know," Tom responds with a tight smile. "However, these rumors sound like the jealous whispers of people like you who wish they had someone half as beautiful, smart, and affluent as Cassandra."

"Do you hear that, Rosier? You are practically royalty and you are letting someone like him steal your girl yet again."

"As you just pointed out, she's my girl," Cain answers, his wand out now too. "Therefore, I would appreciate it if you stopped talking about or to her. Moving on - "

"What's the harm in my having a turn?" Malfoy asks with a sneer. "She did let me kiss her once, you know. Don't like that Riddle?"

"I highly doubt she _let_ you do anything," Tom snarls, wand held tightly in his grasp.

"Don't worry, Rockwood talked to me. Though he wasn't very convincing."

"Touch Cassandra and I will -"

"I intend to do more than touch her, Riddle."

The crucio flies from Tom's wand faster than Malfoy can draw his. He has not previously experienced Tom's temper, of course, so it is natural for him to underestimate it. Ropes soon wrap around his wrists on the chair, courtesy of Cain, keeping him from falling off as the curse racks his body. Tom ends the curse only when he is towering over Malfoy, wand pressed against his temple. Meanwhile Cain rids Malfoy of his own wand, just in case.

Instead of having the good sense to shut up, Malfoy crocks out, "So sensitive. It isn't my fault if you two aren't fulfilling her."

Tom raises his wand, but Cain steps forward before he can fire another curse. He reminds him, "This prick is still the last Malfoy heir."

Tom rolls his eyes and decides not to separate his pretty blond head from his neck today. Instead, he opts for a silencing spell and then another cruciatus curse. He settles into one of the armchairs across from Malfoy. Cain takes the other. When he sees the light leave Malfoy's eyes after a few minutes of struggling, he finally lifts it.

"Now, unless you'd like that to happen again, I suggest you keep any further smart remarks to yourself," Tom drawls. "As you must know, we are here because you have been interfering with our business operations. Things will be put right, you will sign over a Gringotts note to cover the expected damages from your meddling, and you will limit your future activities to the second-tier teams and local leagues. Understood?"

"No, I don't understand why I would do that rather than reporting you to the ministry for using an unforgivable."

"Right, the ministry. Where you work. You know, that profit split arrangement you have with Cassandra's company - some may view it as an improper kickback to a ministry official. After all, I don't exactly recall there being an open bidding process for the contract. Isn't that something you'd prefer remain between us?"

"You're going to blackmail me? Really?"

"That's what I was planning to do, yes. Unless you'd prefer more physical means of securing your cooperation."

"It won't work. If you tell on me, you would have to tell on her, and I know - "

"Unlike you, Cassandra does not have a squeaky clean family legacy to maintain. And she'll survive the blow financially since she's put her money in diversified investments rather than frittered it away on gambling. In fact, I am sure she'll ride out the scandal quite well. Meanwhile, you'll lose your ministry post and with it any measure of power or liquidity you currently have. Is that what you would prefer?"

"It appears I have underestimated you, Riddle. You'd be willing to throw absolutely anyone to the wolves to get what you want, wouldn't you?" Malfoy says with a bitter grin before snapping his fingers and calling to the house elf that appears in the corner, "Dobby, please get my checkbook."

* * *

Cain shoots a killing curse at the accountant from the doorway. He knows he can make some excuse for it, like an escape attempt. He will have to dispose of him either way. Better to put him out of his misery now than to let Tom back at him.

Tom likes to do magical experiments on the people they capture, using them as an opportunity to satisfy his curiosity in more than just theoretical ways. He knows that Tom has recently made the acquaintance of a young werewolf and wants to see what happens when a person is bitten with his own eyes.

The others seem to enjoy these experiments - at least Lestrange, out of curiosity, and Mulciber, out of cruelty - or at least not to mind them. Nott does not care at all about the mechanics of magic, just that he has it and that he believes other people shouldn't. Avery confided to him once that they make him queasy, but that was the end of the conversation. Cain, unlike Avery, does have the stomach to watch. Also unlike Avery, he has the courage to defy Tom to stop it. There are some privileges, after all, to being Tom's top general.

Or at least, there had been, before her.

* * *

She is standing in the hallway, waiting for Cain to emerge from his bedroom due to some last minute adjustments to his dress robes the designer had insisted on making. She can hear the music already floating up from the gardens, the clink of glasses and murmur of voices below it. She walks down to the other end of the hall to look out the window at the party, eyebrows raising at the size of the crowd and extravagance of the decorations. They have really outdone themselves this time. She cannot imagine having to say hello to so many people.

She's jared out of her revere by a man's voice coming from behind her, "Cassandra. It's so nice to see you again."

She turns, carefully adjusting her dress, suppressing the instinct to look down at it instead of him because she knows it would be bad manners to do so, "Hello, Mr. Rosier. Yes, it's lovely to be back at the manor again so soon. You're well, I hope?"

"Spectacular," he declares with a wave of his hand, full of natural charisma just like Cain. "How could I be otherwise on my dear son's birthday? 26. I can't believe it. I remember when you two were just babies. Even then, you both would cry whenever you were separated."

At his words, she has to check her breathing and remind herself to maintain a smile. Funny how he neglects to point out he has always been the one trying to separate them. She tries to sound bubbly as she replies, "Time flies, doesn't it? Before one knows it, everything has changed."

"Well, some things haven't changed since his sixteenth birthday all those years ago. Like the fact that he still loves you."

She keeps glancing at the door hoping for an escape that does not come, as she says, "That may be true but, as your wife should have told you by now, I have no intention of stealing your son away from you, Mr. Rosier, so you have no cause for concern. I hope that reassurance is enough to end this conversation."

"No, it is not. I would like to see my son married, with his own heir at the very least on the way, by the time of his next birthday."

"Then it seems you should tell him that. As you know, it is a conversation that does not concern me. Now, if you'll excuse me - "

" _I didn't._ Don't worry, Cassandra. I am not here to discourage your relationship. The opposite, actually. I apologize for being so… narrow-minded in our previous conversations. I did not mean to hurt your feelings or to off- "

"I assure you that your words have no impact on my feelings, Mr. Rosier. Now or then."

"Felix, please. After all, I am your future father-in-law."

She actually lets out a laugh, " _You_ are my future nothing. I already let you bully me into not dating him. I won't let you bully me into marrying him now that you've changed your mind."

"I am sorry you feel that way. But since you are so set on rebuking any further influence by me, let me ask you this: If I had said nothing, today and all those years ago, would you want to marry him now?"

"What does that matter? You know my feelings now, and I know yours. No further discussion of them is needed," she sayings, moving to walk past him, hoping to rush down the stairs and find some refuge in the crowd. He sticks out his arm, grabbing her by the shoulder and turning her back toward him. She shrugs it off of her and glares at him while warning, "Don't. This conversation is over. I won't answer that. I won't fall for your tricks again."

"Cassandra, if you love him, you wouldn't do this to him."

"My, how things change. Thirteen years ago, it was if you love him, you will leave him be. If you love him, you won't drag him down into the slums with you, unworthy girl. Well, per your request, I won't. Now, if you'd like to go in there and tell your son to break up with me so he can marry a proper pureblood girl, please do so and pay no further mind to me. I will be fine, just as I was all those years ago."

"Tell him yourself, because he thinks he _is_ going to marry you."

"You made the mess, you fix it."

"We made it? We were thrilled when you came back. When you two started seeing each other, we thought he would finally be happy again. We didn't step in to stop it. In fact, we encouraged it. While you continued to date him for an entire year now, knowing he could possibly only intend things to go one way, encouraging him to think things would go that way. So if there is any mess about to be created, I assure you that it will be by you. Is that really the way you want things to go? Forget about us, about everybody in the crowd out there, about the past, about everything but how you feel when you are with Cain. If all those other things didn't exist, would you want to marry him?"

"Yes, _of course_ , but - "

I don't want to make you happy. I don't want to give you or your wife those precious heirs you are so looking forward to. I don't want to become a mother and a trophy. I don't want to give up my own legacy for this family's. Give up my own name for his. Give up Tom for him.

He cuts her off before she can say any of this, and she's actually thankful for it. She'd be throughly fucked if she had said something like that out loud. If she'd admitted it to herself, to Tom, or to anybody else.

Instead, she shoves the thought down and explains to herself that what she means is she doesn't want to give up what Tom can give her. Power. That's all. Nothing more, nothing less. She cannot go about making this something bigger than what it is. An agreed upon, mutually beneficial exchange. She cannot go about making him out to be something other than what he is. A leader whose mission she happens to agree with and a man who will never be satisfied until absolutely everything and everybody has been broken to his will. She cannot start trusting him. With her head. With her heart.

"No. That's it, that's all that matters," Cain's father says, tone stern. Fatherly. Nobody in her life except him has ever talked to her like this, and it brings her back to being a child, like she is six years old and being scolded for sneaking down to the kitchens for a midnight snack.

Once upon a time, she never would have dared argue with that tone. Today she does, replying just as sternly, "That is not all that matters."

"It is. Everything else can be figured out between you two if there's that. But the truth is I don't care if you marry my son. I have learned my lesson about meddling with that. The decision is yours alone to make, and I promise this is the last time I will mention it. However, I do care if you hurt him. He is more than a piece in your chess game, Cassandra. Against us, or with Tom Riddle. Start treating him that way, or stop telling him you love him."

* * *

He's 26 years old and this is the best day of his life.

She's sparkling. Absolutely sparkling. Wearing a red dress that hugs all the right spots, with an almost scandalously low back that allows him to feel her bare skin under his hand while he guides her around the party. Drawing smiles out of everyone they talk to with witty banter and thoughtful remarks. Attracting the jealous glances of every other man there even though her eyes only flit between whoever she is talking to and him.

He can't keep the grin off his face, a point which Lestrange cannot help but to comment on as the two of them stroll to the bar for another round of drinks. He had left her in what he hoped was the capable company of his sister, who had already promised to be on her best behavior and not to screw anything up like last time.

"You're in a good mood," Roland says, raising an eyebrow toward him.

"Of course I'm in a good mood, it's my birthday party," Cain answers cheerfully. "What could there possibly be to worry about?"

"That it will disappear once Tom arrives."

"Not even Tom fucking Riddle can ruin this."

"Ruin what? The party?"

"Cass and I. Let's just say I already got my present from her right before the party, and her level of enthusiasm in giving it leaves no room to doubt who she wants."

"As lovely and utterly filthy as that sounds, you know once he gets here -"

"She has already promised that I will be her only dance partner tonight."

"And what happens if she breaks that promise?" Lestrange asks. He remains silent, his grin faltering for a second. "She's not any better than him, Cain. They both can't help but to destroy everything that gets in the way of what they want. I'm just worried about what's going to happen if she ever thinks that you're in the way."

"She wouldn't. She loves me."

"Don't do this to yourself, mate."

"Don't do this to me, _mate_. I'm in a good fucking mood. Leave it," he demands.

He reaches in to his pocket to check that he'd remembered to grab the ring before stepping out. He's in such a good mood he's decided to do it tonight. After all, if the idea is to capitalize on her nostalgia, what better place to ask than the place where they'd had their first kiss? He'd heard the guilt in her voice when they had talked about it the last time they were here. He knows she still feels too bad about that to hurt him again on the very same spot.

* * *

Tom shows up to the party alone. Not because he couldn't get a date. To make a point.

Though he parades other girls on his arm into these things, everybody knows that once he arrives _she_ is his date. She is the only girl in the room he really cares about and wants to spend time with. He's never bothered not to make that obvious, even though she refuses to see it.

Not that he will be getting her attention today, apparently. It makes sense. He'd expected it. Had nearly not even bothered coming, but the opportunity to socialize with the wizarding elite was too good to be missed and it would be noticed if he didn't at least show his face.

That didn't mean it hadn't stung in its own way when her eyes had flitted to him as he entered through the gates, a flash of guilt in them and then blankness. When they brushed by each other, all she said was _Hello, Tom. Hope you have a great time. w_ ith a polite smile and that same blank stare. A greeting so cold its as if they don't even know each other at all, and he'd wanted to jump forward and kiss her just to prove how well they do.

But this is not the place to push against her boundaries. He has already done that once in this very garden, over a year ago now, and it had ended with her trying to avoid him. He is a man too smart to make the same mistake twice. So he is planning to leave without bothering them after making the rounds. It is not an organization event after all, and there is no urgent business to attend to.

That changes quickly after he walks in. He is talking to Avery's father about the family's plans to auction off some pieces of their art when he sees the boys talking in front of him. A quick charm allows him to focus on their conversation even as he pretends to listen attentively to the one he is actually participating in.

"Lestrange, have you seen Rosier? His mother's looking for him to do a speech before they cut the birthday cake," Mulciber drawls.

Lestrange shrugs, "Last I saw they were sneaking off to the maze for a snog again."

Nott rolls his eyes, "Are those two ever going to get tired of each other?"

"Ten years, mate. That's a lot of pent up snogging," Avery responds with a chuckle.

"Merlin, how is she not knocked up by now? You'd think the charm wouldn't take at least one time," Nott complains.

Lestrange raises an eyebrow, "Maybe it didn't. Certainly would explain his mood today."

"I suppose a few more purebloods wouldn't be a bad thing, even if they're a combination of the two of them," Mulciber interjects.

"Don't lie, Mulciber. You know you're just jealous their babies would be cuter than yours," Avery jokes.

They all laugh, Lestrange's eyes finally lifting from his drink and going wide as he spots Tom. He sees the grimace on Tom's face, sees him turn toward the hedge maze, and knows that Cain's good mood is definitely fucked now.

It takes him a good ten minutes to find them. Sitting on the bench in the middle of the gazebo. Predictable. Tongues shoved so far down each other's throats it looks like they are trying to merge into one. He averts his eyes from their activities before announcing, "Your mother is looking for you. Something about a speech."

Cain stands, blocking her from his view. Petty, and ridiculous. It is not like he hasn't already seen her. His voice is all charm even as he glares at him, "I am sure it can wait."

"Oh, but she did seem so concerned about the schedule," Tom fires back.

"If you would kindly let her know I will find her shortly, I would be very grateful," Cain answers with a smile.

"One would hate for her to worry. After all, stress can have such detrimental effects on a person's health," Tom responds. It is a thinly veiled threat, and he doesn't care much if Cassandra understands it as one too right now. He has a feeling that whatever Cain is up to here needs to be put to an end. Promptly. The spoiled prick just looks even more smug than usual.

Cain just nods and moves to walk away. Tom stares at Cassandra, daring her to move a muscle. She mutters something to him about catching up in a few minutes. Thankfully, he gives in and leaves before Tom has to resort to anything more overt.

"I thought we were both supposed to act like gentlemen, Cassandra," Tom asks, stalking up to her. "That did not look gentlemanly."

"It's really desperate to come here just to interrupt," she replies while standing.

He leans into her, a hand taking her waist to stop her from trying to move past him, and hisses, "You are right, I did interrupt. So let me give you the chance to finish, Cass."

She scoffs, "You are mad if you think I'm going to do that here, with you."

"You were about to do it here with him," he retorts, lips close enough to skim her skin.

"That's different and you know it," she replies. "I need to get back to the party, so unless you've come up with a threat to lob at _me_ \- and for some unknown reason you think that's actually going to go well for you - you will let me pass."

He gives in and steps aside, his arm shifting to wrap around her as they walk side by side with her leading, since she knows the path. He asks, "Any progress on our little charity?"

"The Abbotts are here. The wife loves to find new charitable causes to brag about, and the husband loves younger men almost as much as he loves her. I already talked to them, but if you could swing by and put in a word it should help our chances of obtaining a donation."

"Will do. The Urquarts are making a donation. If you talk to them be sure to thank them. Generously. Even Fawley has expressed an interest."

She laughs, "Well, I think that one may be for you to handle alone - as long as you haven't turned off his daughter too much. I'm sure gifting her a dance or two could only help your efforts. Orpington and Bletchley don't have dates either, perhaps you could rope them in."

Tom knows what she is doing. She wants him to dance with other women so it looks like he didn't come here just to stare at her. After all, if he's seen courting other witches in front of her, the rumors that he is courting her can't possibly be true.

He just nods and lets go of her waist as they emerge from the maze, catching Cain glaring at him as he finishes thanking everybody for coming and glaring right back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was super difficult because it consists of a ton of small moments I wanted to or knew I had to get in to move on with the story, but I hope it turned out well. Going forward, I will try to update this story every two weeks. I will be alternating between updating this one and updating the Hogwarts A/U of it, which I encourage you to check out if you haven't already. 
> 
> Here's my explanation for why this chapter seemingly departs from canon: The wand Grindelwald stole was a replica created by Gregorovitch, who successfully replicated some but not all the powers of the elder wand. After that, Gregorovitch increased the protections around the actual elder wand. Tom hears rumors about these protections and suspects Gregorovitch still has the original wand. This is what Tom has Karkaroff doing in the earlier chapters - confirming those rumors and scoping out the shop. So the wand Tom steals here is the actual elder wand. When the killing curse backfires with baby Harry, the powers of the elder wand transfer directly to Harry, which is how he has them in the last book. However, because he was defeated, Tom as Voldemort starts to doubt whether he had the actual wand, which is why his whole pursuit of it happens again in canon.
> 
> As always, I would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter or the story in general! Please lift my spirits in the middle of a horrendous move I am going through at the worst possible time in my life with a review or message.


	27. Casting Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: Exile by Taylor Swift
> 
> I'll leave you all to guess which character(s) it applies to :)

Tom forces a smile as he sees another woman approaching him out of the corner of his eye. He is tired of dancing. Tired of this party. Tired of being ignored.

He turns, about to politely decline, when he sees who it is and feels obliged to change his mind, "Ms. Greengrass. Apologies for being so forward, but the music is about to start - would you like this dance?"

She steps closer, looking around before whispering, "Actually, can we go somewhere more private please? It isn't… I just want to talk to you about something and would prefer not to be overheard."

He takes her arm and offers her a smile as he answers, "A walk then. It is my pleasure."

Once they are away from the crowds, she starts fidgeting nervously. They stop by the river, just past the edge of the party. Out of earshot but still safely in public view so as not to encourage too much gossip. He waits for her to start talking, only to be met by silence. After a minute, he grows frustrated at this waste of his time.

"I assume you approached me for a reason. Is this regarding a personal matter, or a professional one?" he asks imperiously.

"Personal, My Lord. I apologize for the interruption, but I thought you may want to know… Cain is planning to propose tonight."

"I am not sure why you think this matter concerns me."

"As I am sure you know, there are certain things that are expected of pureblood wives. Fidelity being one of them."

"I am aware. If you have nothing else to discuss, I believe I have heard enough."

"My Lord, we both know you are sleeping with her. And that you would like to keep doing so. It won't be a long engagement, and once they are married - "

"Ms. Greengrass, no offense, but I am not interested in becoming involved in your relationship issues. Neither am I interested in you being involved in mine."

She looks taken aback for a few seconds before responding in a hushed whisper, "You want him to, don't you? You don't think she will say yes?"

"As you have already dropped any pretenses regarding my relationship with Cassandra, I am sure you can see why I would hold that opinion."

"Once she has a child with him, do you really think she will have any time for you?"

"I will excuse the rudeness of your tone considering it is clear you are very emotional right now, Ms. Greengrass. Cassandra is not interested in having children or getting married, so rest assured your precious Cain will remain available should you manage to steal him away. In fact, very soon he should be fully available."

"You're wrong. They're already trying."

"It appears the gossip mill has run amok yet again. Wherever you are - "

"He told Lestrange so. In far more detail than I would like to have heard, or I am sure you'd like to know," she bites back.

He is the one that falls silent now, glaring at the ground. He had been sure that comment was just a way to rile him up. That she didn't have a maternal bone in her body or any kind of a biological desire to reproduce. How could he have been so wrong about her, after all this time?

"I cannot pretend to understand what she means to you, Tom. But it is clear you do not understand what he means to her. Every person has a place where they feel safe. Comfortable. He's her safe space. She lost him once and… well, I've only heard speculation about what happened, but it is clear it wasn't good. Now that she has him back, she won't let that go again. She will give him anything he needs not to lose him."

Greengrass waits for a response that does not come. A few moments pass before she decides to leave. Tom takes a few deep breaths and gathers himself before walking back to the party. He gives Synde a smile when he sees her, pulling her to the floor for a dance as he continues to think.

He watches Cassandra, trying to catch her eye as the two couples twirl past each other, but her gaze never strays. She is looking up at Cain, her head leaning against his shoulder as she nuzzles into him, a smile on his face. Looking at him like he is her own little universe. Cassandra lifts her head to Cain's ear and whispers something. Cain laughs and pulls her closer. Unlike with him, she does not try to escape. Tom spots the box in his pocket and thinks about telling her. Her precious Cain has made a bargain for her, made her a piece in a game of chess between them, and no matter how it ends she will only have one of them once it does.

Then he wonders if she'd say yes just to get away from him if she knew.

He knows he could never stop himself from having her close enough to touch without doing so. Not now and not if that bet were to come to fruition. That no matter how great his resolve was, it would break and he would reach out a hand to grasp her curls or feel the softness of her skin and that would be it. His fate sealed in one second.

He remembers the day of their first kiss and how frantic she had sounded when she'd begged him to leave her alone. _What do you want? There must be a price. There's a price for everything._ He still has her letter, the original with the smell of her on it, offering anything he wanted in exchange for her freedom. _I will do whatever you ask - except for seeing you._

If she knew marrying him was the price of freedom, would she pay it? If she knew that was the golden ticket to getting Tom Riddle to finally leave her the fuck alone, would she jump at the chance?

He hopes Cain wonders if she would say no just to stay in his arms and hasn't told her, because her eyes are twinkling at him as they dance and there is a real laugh on the tip of her tongue and Tom suspects the answer she would give - to him, to every question flying through his mind - is yes. And he suspects he hasn't changed that. That he can't.

Of course he can't, why would she _choose_ to be with someone like him? Just because they are alike, that does not mean she has to like how they are. How he is. That doesn't mean she wouldn't still run from it if given the chance. That doesn't mean she'd stay with Tom even if she doesn't choose Cain.

* * *

"I thought you were going to ask her today," Greengrass says quietly as she slips into the chair next to his on the now deserted patio.

Cain lowers his glass of firewhisky and runs a hand through his hair before responding, "Nott wouldn't leave us alone - no doubt not a coincidence. He just kept popping up every time I tried to take her somewhere private. By the time he left, she was tired."

Evelyn picks at the threads on the cushion, voice hesitant as she admits, "I'm sure she was tired, but I don't think that's why she went upstairs."

Cain sighs and leans back into the armchair he is sitting in, "What happened now?"

"She overheard one of your mother's friends assuring another that your mother had said she would settle down after marriage. She seemed a little surprised, to say the least. Have you not told her what the expectations are?"

"I am not going to force her to stop working, Evelyn. No matter what my mother thinks. We will have a discussion, and her future will be her choice."

"It's not just your mother, it's everyone. It's just not appropriate, especially given…" she trails off, knowing it is a sore subject.

"Given that she's working with Tom," Cain finishes for her with a scowl.

"Yes. It's hard enough to raise children without running several companies on the side. A loving family requires a mother who is present."

"She has her own mind. She can determine her own future."

"If she has to, maybe she isn't the right wife for you."

He turns to look at her and warns sternly, "Evelyn, don't."

She doesn't budge from her chair or her position, "You know as well as I do that she can't be his dark lady _and_ the mother of your children. She is going to have to choose. And if you haven't talked to her about which choice she would make, then you're taking the risk that she won't make the choice you want."

"We have talked about it. She said she wants to have my children. All I am saying is that, unlike my mother seems to think, I'm not going to force her into some mold."

"That doesn't mean she wants to be the one to raise them, Cain."

"Merlin, you and my Mother," he says with a sigh as he stands. "Both always stirring up trouble."

"Don't forget your father was the one who caused this mess," she quips back as she watches him pace back and forth on the stones in front of her.

"My father fixed what he did. You two keep meddling. Are you just jealous?"

"No. I know you love her. Always have, even back at Hogwarts when we first dated. Always knew you would choose her if you could. But you are one of my oldest friends. I want you to be happy. She - "

He swivels to face her, glaring, "She what? You two used to be friends too. Now this. What happened?"

"She's different now. Has been since she came back. You just don't want to see it," she answers, holding his gaze. "She used to be kind, even with everything - you know what I mean. Actually kind, not just selectively so. She was always smart, but she didn't use it like she does now. To manipulate people. To plan her every action so it benefits her. And only her, Cain."

"I don't want to hear this, Evelyn."

"I know you don't, which is why you should. There's a reason Tom's attracted to her, and it isn't just her looks. They're two of a kind. And do you really want to date somebody who is so much like Tom Riddle?"

"Gods, don't put that image into my head. Besides, she's not like that. You just want to see the worst in her because - "

"I will admit you broke my heart. Still, I don't want to see her break yours. Stop worrying about saving her and start worrying about saving yourself, Cain. However this thing between the three of you ends, everyone knows it won't be well."

"I don't need saving. And I don't care what _everyone_ thinks they know. I know her better than anyone. I know she wouldn't hurt me. Next time you visit this manor, she will be the lady of it. I'm going home, and I'm taking her with me."

* * *

It's cheating.

He knows it's cheating. Knows Tom would count it if he knew.

But it is the Sunday morning after his birthday and they are still in bed. It is Sunday morning and she is not going to the potions lab. It is Sunday morning and she had woken him with kisses and coffee and fresh croissants she'd snuck out to get from their favorite bakery in Paris. They had eaten and then had sex, slow and languid, with her spooned against him, and she hadn't bothered with any of the usual charms.

Now they have been laying there for minutes in silence, occasionally staring at each other, occasionally letting their eyes slip closed, occasionally pressing kisses against the other's skin. He feels her fingers float up the ripples of his chest again. He takes her hand in his, pulling it up to kiss her palm before putting it back down. She looks up at him and he puts on a light tone, as if what he is about to say is a joke.

"Is this what every Sunday morning would be like if you were my wife?"

"It _can_ be what every Sunday morning is like if you want," she answers, avoiding the question as she usually does whenever he brings up something like her moving in officially or her changing her last name.

He just hums and teases, "Though once we have kids they'll probably run in and interrupt us, leaving them asking what mummy and daddy are doing and scaring them for life."

"Merlin, don't get me speculating on what stories you have from your childhood."

A laugh is half-forced from his lunges, "Oh, I'm sure _our_ stories will be a thousand times worse. After all, I already have the desire - and the tendency - to ravish you on sight. They'll probably catch us reliving our wedding night in every room of the house."

"Cain," she calls softly. A wave of nausea washes over him and his entire body goes cold.

His mother had been right. It's going to be a no. A no disguised in the nicest possible terms, but still a no. He can almost hear her mental panic, can almost feel the way her heart seizes up at the mere idea of commitment. Fuck, how had he not noticed that was still there before? Or had he noticed and thought the love she'd confessed for him would be enough to overcome it?

Conveniently confessed, right as he was first becoming sure there was something between her and Tom. Something other than Tom just wanting to fuck her, or use her. Something real. Something _more_. More than they have. More than he had thought her capable of having.

Conveniently said she wanted to have his child, right in earshot of Tom. Right after Tom had pissed her off. Knowing it would be sure to make Tom angry.

Conveniently said she was willing to try, right after proposing to overthrow Tom. Right after he'd refused to help. Knowing what Tom would do if he ever told him what she had said.

Fuck, how had he not noticed? Or had he noticed and purposefully ignored the convenient timing of every significant step in their relationship? He'd been so stuck on convincing himself this was finally what she wanted, _he_ was finally what she wanted that he'd chosen to brush off every single warning sign.

Fine, so maybe it's true that she's been manipulating him. Still, if she'd wanted to hurt him, she could have by now. If all she cared about was Tom's favor and the power it could offer her, she should have by now. But she hasn't. Maybe she will now.

He looks down at her and her expression is carefully neutral, voice calm and even.

"Cain, you should talk to your parents before making any decisions. I know you love them and -" she stops to sigh before turning to him. "This isn't just about us. You aren't just you. You are the heir to the Rosier family, the only remaining son of the English and French lines, the carrier of a legacy spanning thousands of years. They should have a say in what the future of that legacy will be. And, to be honest, I don't think they really want it to be me, even if they will accept it if that's your choice."

"I don't care, Cass. I've never cared," he says, reaching out to cup her cheek. "I know what they said to you. I'm sorry for it all. I'm sorry you had to hear that. I'm sorry I didn't tell you how strongly I disagreed with it all before. You're right, I'm not just me. But this choice is just mine. And I have never wanted it to be anyone else but you."

"The thing is they're right, Cain. I don't fit. In that legacy. With your family. I will never be what they want. If you choose me, they'll always resent me. They will always suspect me. Everyone will. And one day, you might start to as well."

He almost says he would never and then he remembers he just had.

"Cass, this isn't about other people. I don't care what they think, or about the rumors they spread. It's about us. So what do you want?"

"I love you, Cain. I want you to be happy. Are you right now?"

"Yes."

"Then can't we worry about all that another time?"

"Yes, but - "

"It's a perfect Sunday morning and yesterday was a long day. Let's just enjoy it."

He can't help but let the frustration leak into his tone at the way she is dodging him. He knows he would usually stop pushing now, but he can't just let it go this time. He can't let her go back to him again.

"Cass, I want to marry you. And raise a family with you. And spend the rest of my life with you. That would make me happier than anything."  
"Why can't we spend the rest of our lives together without getting married?"

"You know why, Cass."

"Because it's tradition? What everyone expects? In case you forgot, I was already - "

"Because without that piece of paper our children would be bastards. Worse, everyone would suspect they're bastards of that bastard. Honestly, I don't understand what you're so afraid of. I'm not like _him_ , Cass! If anything, Tom is. I would never do those things to you, and you should know that by now."

"So you wouldn't want me to stop working?"

"Admittedly, I would, but it's not because I don't want you to have your independence. I just don't want this _legacy_ of mine sullied by your relations with some half-blooded, power-hungry psychopath."

"My _relations_? What do you mean by that exactly?"

"Everyone thinks you're fucking him, Cass."

"Everyone meaning you too, Cain?"

"You said you weren't, and I want to believe you but - "

"But you don't."

"He looks at you like he owns you."

"And how am I supposed to control that, Cain?"

"I know you can't, Cass, it's just - "

"You want to show him you own me instead?" she asks with a raised eyebrow while standing. She turns away from him to pull on her clothes, "It's funny. In the end, men aren't that different from each other."

He sits up against the headboard, "That's not what I meant."

She turns back to him, a hand on her hip, "So what did you mean by bringing that up? Perhaps trying to guilt me into marrying you? Sounds familiar."

"Cass, you're making this into an argument I can't win. I know that strategy of yours, and I'm not going to play into it by keeping the argument going. I'm sorry if it seems like I have been pushing you, but it's hard for me to be patient after already waiting so long. I cannot wait to marry you and have kids with you and have a life with you."

"We _have_ a life together already, Cain. I'm sorry if it's not enough for you."

"You know I'm mad for you. Have always been mad for you. How is living in separate houses and spending half the week apart supposed to be enough for me, Cass? How can it be enough for you, unless I'm not?"

"Cain, you're making this into something bigger than it is. You just said you were happy. You're getting into your own head and - "

"I'm not, right? That's why you didn't choose me then, and that's why you aren't willing to choose me now."

"I have chosen you, Cain. I don't know how many more ways I can prove that to you. For Merlin's sake, the entire reason I even have anything to do with _that bastard_ is you. But why does wanting to be with someone require me not to want anything else? Or to want all of that? That seems to be the way every man thinks - "

This is what makes Cain snap. How dare she keep comparing him or what he is asking for to what that mudblood had done to her. As he had said, if any comparison can be made, it's not between them.

"Except your precious Tom, right? Don't worry, he'll definitely let you go on extorting and plotting as long as it benefits him. Honestly, he's probably just salivating at the idea of getting you into torturing and murdering too when the time comes. Sound familiar? And I wouldn't be too sure he's not planning to knock you up eventually. Given his ego and his ideals, there's half a chance he's already picked names for the huge broad of pureblood descendants you two will have - though the other half says his ego is too fragile to risk sharing his talent or your attention even with his own offspring. You think Tom is giving you what you want, but he's just using you, Cass, and he doesn't care what you want at all."

"I know how Tom is. I'm not naive. Apparently, the mistake I made was in thinking I still knew how you were, Cain. I used to think you'd be on my side no matter what. That you'd let me take my time and make my choices. But this isn't asking me what I want, Cain. This is telling me that I have to give you what you want, or you're going to - what? Launch some kind of completely unjustified suicide mission against Tom? He's not the reason I don't want to get married again yet. _I'm_ the one who isn't ready for it. I just… I can't do that again right now. To be honest, I am not sure I will ever be able to. The truth is I know that's not fair to you. You didn't do anything. That doesn't change the fact that I'm not ready for something more than what we have right now. So you should take a few days to think about whether that's enough for you."

He's stunned into silence for a second. They've never had a real fight like this. He's still pissed enough that he watches her walk out of the bedroom door while sitting up in bed, scowling and not moving until her footsteps start fading. As silly as it is, he doesn't think she'll actually walk away. Thinks she'll wait for him to get up and stop her.

She's already halfway down the staircase by the time he catches her. He stops at the top, calling down at her, "Cass, I'm sorry for pushing you. Come back to bed."

"I'm serious, Cain," she calls back without looking at him. "Take a few days to think about what you want. I'll understand if it's not… I know how badly you want those things, and I won't blame you if you decide you need to have them with somebody else."

"Cass, there's never been anybody else for me. Be honest, is there for you?"

"Maybe there should be. It seems like no matter what I do, all I end up doing is hurting you. I do love you, Cain. I don't want to hurt you. I just can't give you what you want."

"I can wait. If that's what you need, Cass. If that's all you need."

"That's what you say, but not how you act."

"I can stand waiting. What I can't stand is you and Tom."

"There is no me and Tom, Cain. You said it yourself. I know he doesn't care what I want. I don't care what he wants either. All we do is use each other to get what we want. We don't care about each other. Certainly not the way I care about you."

"That's what you say, but not how you act."

"What have I ever done that has made you think I actually care about Tom Riddle?" she fires back, turning to face him.

He doesn't want to say it but he can't hold back admitting it any longer. To her. To himself. He tries to keep his tone as calm as possible as he responds, "You're fucking him, Cass."

"What makes you think - "

"You never deny it. You just change the subject every time. Even now, you're trying to deflect instead of just saying you aren't. When I ask this time I want a straight answer. How long have you been fucking Tom Riddle?"

"Cain, I didn't mean to - "

"Answer the question, Cass."

"What good does knowing do?"

"Does it matter? I want to know! I tried to hide from it for the longest time, but that's exactly what got us here. I can't trust you anymore because of this, Cass. I can't trust what you say about how you feel about me. About him. If the reason you don't want to marry me is because you would rather have him, tell me. Tell me the truth instead of just saying whatever you think will hurt me the least."

"I've never lied to you, Cain. Including about the fact that the reason I don't want to get married has nothing to do with him. I just think some things are better left unsaid."

"While some things are better left un-done. But you did them, didn't you?" he snarls.

She blinks and looks down before finally answering, "March."

He actually laughs, "Fuck, Cass, ever the opportunist, hmm? You saw how much power he really has once and immediately found a way to get him to share it."

"It's not like - "

"What is it like then? Because the alternative to you taking advantage of him is you actually wanting to fuck him, and I don't want to believe that's the case."

"Have you suddenly forgotten what he did to you, Cain? What do you think he would have done if I had continued to refuse him?"

"Nothing he could have done to me would have hurt more than this, Cass! You should have known that, so stop pretending that you're doing this for me. That you were ever doing this for me. You did this for you. You've been sleeping with him behind my back for five months. So how am I supposed to believe you not wanting to marry me has nothing to do with him? How am I supposed to believe it's not because you care for him more than you do me?"

"Because I say it doesn't and that I don't! For Merlin's sake, do you really think I could ever forget the fact that he threatened to kill you, Cain? Or forgive it? Do you think I could care about someone after they did that?"

"I think you could overlook it."

"Cain, that would be fucked up."

"There's nothing about this situation that's not fucked up, Cass."

The air hangs heavy and silent between them for a few moments as she just bites her lip and stares at him. Finally, her voice comes out, a serenity to it he hasn't heard in months. Years.

"I'm sorry, Cain. I knew it was hurting you to see us together, but I sincerely thought the best way for me to protect you was for me to stay close to him. Until now, I didn't realize I was hurting you more than helping you. I shouldn't have hide it from you, and I shouldn't have let things go that far. But you can always count on me to fuck up your life, right? So it's probably best for both of us, if… "

He reaches out an arm to grab her wrist and stop her from turning. His voice is strained but he manages to say, "Don't leave, Cass. Please."

"What's the point of staying? You don't trust me. You think I don't love you. You can try to push those feelings down and pretend - you're good at that - but they'll come bubbling back up and make you doubt me again even if I do give you what you're asking for. What is getting married going to change about this, Cain? How is it going to make any of this any better?"

_"If getting married meant you could protect me - from him, from this - would you?"_

He thinks about saying it for a second and then realizes he can't. It would be a trap. A Catch 22. If she says no, it will prove she never cared for him as much as she claims. It will prove the reason she is with Tom is not the one she claims. So she will have to say yes, for her own sake as much as for his, even if she doesn't really want it.

He meant it when he said he is not like him, and he refuses to be. To do this to her. To take away her freedom and make a choice for her that she isn't ready to make for herself.

He lets go of her arm and whispers one last thing before stepping back to let her leave, "Cass, I'd still rather have you like this than not have you at all. It's your choice, but… just so you know, yeah? It's always been you for me."


	28. Greatest Enemy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Liability by Lorde

A tornado.

That's what her mind feels like. Swirling. Old and new memories mixing. Thoughts jumping and thank fucking god she hadn't broken down before going through the fireplace because Cain definitely does not need to know how much of a mess she really is.

No, instead she's just wandering the halls of this wretched place while her mind retches up every possible thought she does not want to think. This godforsaken manor. She should have burned the whole thing down, really. She stumbles upon her bedroom door and is about to walk in to it when she stops. Merlin, what had she been thinking?

She can't get that word out of her head. _Always_.

She'd been so sure about leaving until he'd said that. That leaving was best for him. For her… well, she could take being alone. She'd been alone for three years, what was another couple of decades? It wasn't too bad, honestly, as long as she kept moving about so she didn't get too bored.

How does he know? How can he be so sure?

She's never been sure about anything. All her life it feels like she has been pushed and pulled in every direction by other people, never making any choice about where she wants to go for herself. Not truly. Always considering, weighing her options and their consequences. Weighing other people's wishes and the relative influence they have on her survival. Her parents. His parents. Him. Him. _Him_.

Why can't she get him out of her head, still?

He's dead. Buried. Gone. Years ago. At her hand. Truthfully, that had been the thing she'd been most sure about. That she'd needed to be free of him. He has no power over her anymore. Should have none, and yet there he is in her head, whispering things to her.

_How could anyone love someone like you, Cassandra?_

How would you know, you never could love.

_This is the only thing you can do, destroy people._

Speak for yourself, you made me do that.

_Do you really think you deserve him?_

If there was one person I didn't deserve, it was you.

_Oh, but you chose me, darling. Because you knew you didn't deserve him. That all you could do was hurt him, like you just did._

Merlin, she's going crazy. Again. Talking to the voices in her head. Again. She thought this had stopped. That he'd finally faded. And then she'd met Tom. If he put his hands around her throat just hard enough, she can almost see him. Tom brings her back from it quickly every time, but still. How fucked up is that? Fucking the ghost of a man she had killed. A man she hated.

She hates him. Tom. Why is he doing this to them? To her? Why is she letting him?

She knows why she is letting him, and she hates that most of all. She hates most that she does not hate him at all. That she can't bring herself to. At first, it had been simple understanding. She'd seen it past his mask. How tired he also was of being alone. Seen it and hadn't run from it as hard as she should have. And then she'd thrown herself right into it, hadn't she? Made a game of indulging him. Allowed herself to indulge in him. Then the shared ideals and the sex and the sheer ease between them had turned it into something else. She'd always had to be so careful with Cain. She'd always been so afraid of hurting him that she'd watched every word and every action. She'd never been careful enough with Tom.

_See, you can only love a monster like me, darling. Like him. Since you are one too._

No. I love Cain. I do.

_How long have you been trying to convince yourself of that, Cassandra? He will never understand you. And even if he did, it would only scare him away. Give up._

He said always.

_He lied. Just like I did._

No, he didn't. He's not like you.

_Then good thing you know he would be better off without you. Everyone would._

Her mind is swirling and suddenly so is the world.


	29. Heading for Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We Have It All - Pim Stones

He does not hear from her the next day, or the day after that. Cain tries not to assume anything from it. He knows she needs time. It doesn't occur to him that she might have already made a choice until he walks into his office at the ministry after a meeting on Wednesday afternoon and sees Tom waiting for him. He shuts the door and casts a silencing charm on the room before walking over to his chair.

He eyes Tom suspiciously as he sits, still trying to come up with the possible reason for his visit but already knowing it can't be anything good, "Afternoon. How did you - "

"Let's skip the pleasantries," Tom commands, looking up at him with a glare strong enough to kill. "What did you say to Cassandra?"

Cain crosses his arms in front of his chest, jaw already grinding at Tom's tone as he responds, "That's between Cassandra and I, and unless she agrees, I won't be telling you."

"Fine, I'll guess. You tried to propose and it went wrong so you told her something to scare her away from me," Tom declares, as if he already knows that is what happened. If that was the case, Cain doesn't see why he would come bother him about it. The annoyance showing on Cain's face seems to confirm his suspicions, as he continues, "What was it? The bet?"

"No. I don't want to wonder if she only said yes to get away from you, so I didn't and don't plan on telling her. As you know, due to certain interferences this weekend, I did not ask," Cain answers. Well, not technically, he thinks. Technically, he can still pretend he hasn't lost her.

Tom's jaw clicks. Cain feels him try to crash into his mind and pushes him back. A splitting headache erupts and his mind feels like it is splitting in half, but he still manages to keep his guard up. He shakes his head at Tom. He's not playing along with this game today.

"Keep it up and I'll definitely have something to tell her," Cain warns. "Or did you forget that her seeing you is contingent on you not harming me? Do you really want to deal with the fall out from that in addition to whatever shit she's already giving you that has you so riled up?"

The pain in his head stops. Tom looks away, eyes falling on the wall of awards to his side. Cain recognizes the blank look in them as a sign that the wheels in his head are turning, that he's concentrating on piecing something together - and wonders what it is and why he's here. Why doesn't he just ask Cassandra what's bothering her, if he can tell something is? Why does he even care? He has her wrapped up in his web already - it's not like it matters if she actually likes him or wants to be there.

"It doesn't work that way between us anymore," Tom says, tone flat. "The chamber?"

"Please, as if a dead girl would be enough to stop her fucking you," Cain sneers.

Tom's eyes snap to his, holding his glare, digging the dagger in deeper by making a point not to deny it. When he finally speaks up, his tone is smug, "Did Greengrass tell you?"

Cain's eyes narrow in confusion, "Why would you think she did?"

Tom smirks back, "No reason. So Nott then?"

"No, it looks like he managed not to gossip for once."

"Shame. I suppose punching him for telling you that I'd had my fingers inside of her during tea had some deterrence effect," Tom says with a shrug. A real smile almost slips onto his face at Cain's expression, "Oh, you didn't know she wasn't that wet for you? Apologies. So was it McNair or Lestrange?"

Cain snickers, "Why do you care how I know? You wanted me to all this time, didn't you? Especially judging by the fact that it sounds like you made a special effort to fuck her around as many of them as possible."

"Well, had to keep things interesting. There was this time at the casino where I had her bent over the couch screaming my name loud enough for all of the night's patrons to hear. Fucked her so well she forgot the door was still open. Though my favorite was when I ate her out under the table at - "

"That's enough," Cain says tersely. "If you want to trade stories, I have a few of my own I am sure you wouldn't enjoy hearing, but I assume we can both be more civilized than that."

Tom offers him one last smirk before getting back on topic, "I am sure you know Cassandra won't be happy with whoever spilled our secret."

"Well, considering it was her, I think she'll let it slide. Don't look so surprised. I'm not daft, and you weren't exactly making it easy for her to hide."

"So that's why she's hiding from me?" Tom asks, leaning forward.

"What do you mean hiding from you?" Cain asks back, eyebrows crumpled in confusion.

"She's not at home."

"You - "

"Come, Cain, why do you think she was spending half the week there?" Tom says, not letting the opportunity to tease him slip by. He very well knows Cain has never been invited to her home. His expression turns serious again as he remembers why he is here in the first place. "Do you know where she ran off to?"

Cain blinks a few times in surprise before replying, "She didn't. She wouldn't. Did you check the casino?"

"I'm not daft either. Of course I checked the casino. And the potions lab. And your townhouse. And her other house. And the country house we are renovating. I haven't heard from her since Saturday. Clearly, whatever you said to her Sunday made her run off. So what was it and where is she hiding?"

"That's not… she wouldn't leave without saying something to me. She must just have another appointment or a business meeting or something she forget to mention to you."

"Did she mention anything to you?"

"I haven't heard from her since Sunday either."

"Hence, the conclusion that she's run off. To where?"

"Merlin, how am I supposed to know - "

Tom stands, leaning over the table to hover above him, and commands, "Guess."

Cain looks him up and down, observing the click of his jaw and the tapping of his wand fingers before answering calmly, "No."

Tom glowers down at him, "What do you mean no?"

"I mean I don't give a fuck about what you do to me anymore, but I am not going to let you hurt her again."

"As much as you'd like to believe I am some villain who has trapped her, she did choose to start a relationship with me. I will not let her end it like this. I'm not going to hurt her, but - "

"Tom, is there anything else you can do in this state? Admit it, you're already carrying sleeping drought or amortentia or some shit and you've already figured out where you're going to lock her up once you find her so she can't run again. You won't let her go. You can't."

"How can you? You don't even really think she ran, which means she could be in danger. Malfoy or Dumbledore or who knows who could have her, and you are just going to - "

Cain stands too, still glaring at him as he responds, "Fine. But I'm coming with you in case you try to pull something. Let's go."

* * *

They don't speak again until they floo from the Ministry into Cain's office at home. Cain walks over to his desk and pulls open a drawer in the cabinet below the world map hanging on the wall, revealing a small bowl filed with what Tom instantly recognizes as blood.

"What - " Tom begins to ask.

"It's a tracking pact she had us do in case you ever tried anything," Cain explains as he pulls off his coat and rolls up his sleeve. "Though I suppose it will be pretty useless after this."

There's a mark that looks like a crescent moon on his inner elbow. It looks like a simple scar at first glance, but staring at it now Tom knows that the shape is no coincidence. It's not a moon, it's a letter, and it wasn't put there by accident.

He's seen her naked enough to know she doesn't have a matching mark, which if the spell is meant to work two ways as he suspects it is, can only mean one thing - she'd used the snake he'd pressed into her skin to bind her half of the spell. So that's why she had kept it.

Cain dips his fingers in the blood and smears it across the mark before saying, "Fair warning. All it does is put out a call. She can choose not to answer it if she doesn't want to share her location, in which case I won't help you further. But if she's really in danger and doesn't respond, then we can continue this little adventure."

Tom scowls but does not respond. Can't help him further is more like it, he thinks. Really, if she's already run away, he might as well kill the brat.

Cain waves his wand over the mark and it begins to glow gold. A few minutes pass before he staggers forward, bracing himself against the cabinet and squinting his eyes closed as the scar on his arm splits open, golden light flowing from it instead of blood. Magic flowing from it, mingling with her blood to complete the connection. The blood which then begins floating up to the map on the wall, a red blob landing with a faint splat against one particular spot just east of Liverpool. A spot about as big as an entire neighborhood, unfortunately.

"Not the most precise spell, is it?" Tom quips unhappily.

"No, but better than nothing," Cain answers as he pulls down his sleeve and opens his eyes again. They go wide as soon as he looks at the map. He mutters, "Fuck, I was hoping it wasn't there."

Cain is just staring at the map and rubbing his temple, like this is the last place she would want to go. Liverpool. Tom has never heard her mention it.

"I can't imagine what would have…" he trails off, seemingly aware of Tom's presence again. He falls silent for a few minutes before nodding as if he's suddenly made up his mind about something. He turns to Tom and cocks his head, "Get your wand out. I'll get you as close as I can but looks like you are going it alone after all."

"I think if you're sending me into a situation alone it would be best if I was informed of what the situation is - as well as why you changed your mind," Tom answers, arms crossed, refusing to comply so easily.

"It's not like I know any more than you about what the situation is. I just know where she is, that's all."

"And you know something about where she is that you aren't telling me."

"I'm surprised she didn't. I thought she told you everything. But if she hasn't, then it's not my place to."

"I'd say it became your place to when she disappeared to that place without a word."

Cain sighs before giving in, "She gave three manors to the charity, right? I take it she didn't tell you where the fourth one was, the one that's not on any books as her still owning. It's there. It's where she lived with - you know."

"A few more things you are still leaving out. Why did you decide not to come?"

"After Hogwarts, I managed to track her down to it to try to demand an explanation, but as soon as I tried stepping onto the grounds I found out he'd already created a special ward to keep me out. I couldn't break it before he found me, and since it's tied to the land through his ancestral link to it and he's dead…"

"There's no way to break it now, so you can't step foot in the place. Which means you need me to, since you think there's absolutely no way in hell she'd do so willingly ever again. Why?"

"I know there's not."

"As I said, why?"

"I just do," Cain mumbles, turning away.

"Why?"

"Just leave it, Tom."

"I'm not going to believe you - or her - unless you tell me. So if you want me not to do anything rash once I find her, I would suggest you do," Tom presses.

"I knew, alright?" Cain nearly screams, whipping around. "I knew what he was doing. He told me then… Fuck, I can still remember how proud he looked when he told me how he was keeping her locked up in there, how I would never talk to her again and neither would anybody else she used to know, how he'd made her completely and totally dependent on him. I knew and I couldn't do anything. Didn't do anything. Left her there, knowing exactly what kind of hell it was. Which is also how I know she'd never go back except for three reasons I can think of."

"One, she didn't go there willingly," Tom guesses. "Two, she's suffered some kind of psychotic break. Three?"

"She wants to die in the same place she killed him," Cain mutters.

This is his fault, isn't it? Whichever reason it is, it's his fault for starting the argument that led to it. If he'd just left her alone, if he hadn't pressured her, if he hadn't said all those things about her and him and Tom - would she be at home now? Even if it was with Tom, there's nothing Cain wishes for more in this moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the chapters have been much shorter lately (as well as longer waits for updates due to finals), sorry if you are disappointed. I just feel like this pacing works better with the current tone of the story. Next update coming soon - and a long one - to make up for it though!


	30. Moment of Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everything i wanted - Billie Eilish

Even though he can get on to the path - leaving Cain waiting behind it - and up to the gate, it takes Tom an hour to break through the protective charms on the place. It would have taken much longer if he didn't already know what kind of wards she likes to use and how to deal with them.

It's quiet inside when he arrives, and for a moment he thinks Cain must have been wrong. The place feels like it hasn't been stepped inside in years. Every step he takes disturbs the thick layer of dust coating the floors. Little clouds of it float in the air in his wake, though they are barely visible in the dim light filtering through the dirty windows. Every door he opens creaks as it moves, protesting the intrusion. Faded furniture litters the rooms - there's even a tea tray on one of the tables and dead flowers in vases by the windows. It is as if someone left this place one day, expecting to come back the next, and just never got around to it. Nothing has been moved. Nothing has been packed up.

When his curiosity has been sated, he looks for another set of footprints in the dust, but there are none. He wanders, wondering if she somehow floated in, but there's no hint of life anywhere in this place.

After exhausting the first floor, he wanders up the staircase. He isn't sure why. In his head, he's convinced that this can't have been right. That she can't be here. That she's playing a trick on him. When he walks out of here he is going to kill Cain then track her down and make her pay for it.

But something else is guiding him up the steps, and he follows it up and down the hall to a blank wall. There's a hitch in the molding, a place where it doesn't quite line up, where the groove looks just a little deeper. He reaches a hand out to feel it and pushes a little too hard. A door swings open. A beautiful room, all whites and creams, stretches out before his eyes. Looking at the curtains and rows of bookshelves and vanity table more closely, he realizes this was her bedroom then.

The air seems to be sucked out of his lungs when he sees her lying on the floor immediately in front of the door. Eyes closed, skin nearly as cold as his, and he'd almost think she was dead if not for the shivering and shaking. If not for the weak words that come out of her mouth when he kneels down to touch her, making his own heart stop for a second.

"Nik… please don't," she whispers through lips that have lost all color. Her eyes open a tad to stare at him. They look cloudy and distant, like she's somewhere far away in her mind. "Please just let me die this time. Please let it be over."

His blood boils at her words. At the idea of how much that filthy creature must have hurt her. If he wasn't already dead, he'd crucio him to oblivion. Hell, maybe there's some way to bring him back so that he can, or to make him suffer in the afterlife.

 _Focus_ , he reminds himself. He picks up his wand and thinks of casting a warming charm on her, then second guesses it. Warming her could increase her blood flow, so if it's some kind of poison that's caused this it would speed up its effects. Anything he could cast or give her could react, even a simple sleeping potion or something else to calm her down. He sighs and moves to scoop her into his arms so he can at least set her on the bed where she will hopefully be more comfortable.

She flinches, whimpers, and recoils. He reminds himself it is not from him but from who she is thinking of right now, from where her mind is stuck. He waves his wand to levitate her over instead. Her eyes close again when her head hits the pillow. She curls into herself, quiet again, receding into whatever bad dreams whatever has happened to her have induced.

Tom turns back to the room, looking around for the source of this. Perhaps a cursed object. Or maybe something she'd drunk or eaten that had been secretly dosed. He turns on a curse detection charm and waves his wand around everything in the room as he walks, checking for potential suspects, but finding nothing. Maybe she had been exposed earlier and whatever it was had a delayed affect. Does he have time to look through the rest of the house for it? Or even her manor? Or, Merlin forbid, Cain's manor? How can he even know when this started or how long it might have been since she was exposed to whatever caused it? She certainly has her share of enemies, and their hobbies and occupations are not exactly safe ones.

He sighs and looks back at her. St. Mungo's it is. He knows walking in with her will raise questions. Walking in with her looking like she has most likely been cursed by a dark object or poisoned will raise even more, and he does not want to answer them. But what other choice does he have? Investigating will take too much time. Calling on anyone else will take too much time. While thinking, he walks into the attached bathroom to find a washcloth to mop up her brow. Maybe a ribbon to pull her hair out of her face too.

It is there that he finds it. A perfume bottle broken on the counter, shards of it and its content spilled over onto the ground. Whatever was mixed into it must have acted right away then, must have been volatile enough to release into the air on impact or absorb through her skin immediately if it had splashed onto her. He transfigures the tissue box on the counter into a vial and carefully spells enough of the liquid into it to allow adequate study before vanishing the rest and then casting a purifying charm on the air just in case, though he himself doesn't feel anything so she had most likely taken the full brunt of it.

He has to pick her up this time to have her apparate with him. Her hand comes up to his chest weakly, trying to push away even though she doesn't have the strength to. He pulls her closer and pads his fingers over her back, trying to sooth her, "It's me, Cass. Just me. Everything's going to be fine, my little harpy."

She whimpers again and rests her head against his shoulder. He wonders if she actually does understand him or if she's simply too weak to keep fighting back, and then the world swirls around them. They land in the stark white lobby facing the intake desk. He stumbles but manages to right himself and hold onto her.

It feels like the entire place freezes the second after they arrive, medi-witches and wizards literally stopping to stare at them. The ones who need to continue on with their duties resume their movements a second later, whispering as they pass each other or giving curious looks to the other staff. Guests and other patients linger, waiting to see what happens. Nobody makes a move in their direction. He wonders if anybody is going to help them or if people thinking you murdered someone allows them to justify letting you die too. He steps toward the desk himself, hating the way every movement seems to hurt her.

"Excuse me," he directs at the intake witch with a terse smile. "My _friend_ seems to be suffering from the effects of a very powerful potion and needs urgent medical attention. Can I bother you to call a healer?"

"I'm sorry sir, of course," she answers, eyes wide, before pressing a button on her collar and turning slightly to direct her speech at it. "Third floor. Diagnostic needed in lobby. Witch, mid-20s, presumed poisoning, semi-conscious, immediate attention required."

The witch presses the button again before turning back to him, holding a clipboard and quill now, "Should be a few minutes. Can you please write down whether Mrs. Alexander - "

He cuts her off, "Malecrit."

"Apologies. Can you please write down whether Ms. Malecrit has - "

"As you can see, no, I cannot," Tom snarls, head bobbing to indicate his full hands.

The witch erupts into a visible blush, "Oh, yes, of course. The healer can gather that information from you instead, then. Speaking of which, that's the head of the potion and plant poisoning department coming down the hall."

A tall wizard stops in front of them, already looking down and examining her condition. He takes a diagnostic wand from the intake witch and begins to run it over her, a matching quill jotting down numbers on a piece of parchment next to him on the counter, before looking up at him, "Hello, I'm Herbert Pollingtonious. Do you know whether Ms. Malecrit has any conditions we should be aware of, Mr. - "

"Riddle. No. I mean, no, I don't believe she does, but I am not certain."

"Is there someone who would know for certain?" The healer asks, an eyebrow raised and a note of judgment in his voice.

What is he doing, simpering over a witch he barely knows? Does she have any allergies? He doesn't know. Does she have any medical conditions? He doesn't know. Family medical history? He doesn't know. Would she want him to be doing this if she was awake? Would she want to see him at all? He doesn't know.

Cain knows. He had forgotten about him, still waiting on that overgrown path in front of the house. He had been lost in her. He does not want to lose her. He simply answers, "No."

The healer is about to start speaking again when the intake witch pipes up, "Perhaps Cain Rosier? We can send a note - "

Tom does not miss the way the healer's face has lit up with sudden interest, his memory likely jogged by the mention. Suddenly she's important just because her boyfriend's family probably happens to be the biggest donor to this bloody place.

Tom cuts the intake witch off with a glare, "That won't be necessary."

She shrinks back and mutters, "Oh, but I thought… all the papers say they are seeing each other. I apologize if I was mistaken."

"You are not," Tom says, trying to bury his hostility so it doesn't show in his voice. "However, I can inform him myself later. I believe the priority now should be treating Ms. Malecrit as soon as possible, no?"

The healer replies with a forced smile, "Yes, of course. Let us get Ms. Malecrit up to a treatment room now. Afterward, Brunhilda, please send a note to the Rosier manor to inform the family and let them know the room in case they would like to visit."

Tom objects, careful to keep a smile on his face while doing so, "Not to interfere with your medical judgment, Healer Pollingtonious, but I was under the impression such information was confidential unless the patient wishes for it to be disclosed."

"Well, since she's in no state to consent to their presence or _yours_ , I think perhaps we can overlook it until she's feeling better, if that sounds all right to you," the healer responds with a neutral expression as he looks over the results of the diagnostic. Tom pulls her closer and doesn't answer. The healer summons a gurney over and gestures for him to put her down on it before pressing the button on his collar and starting to walk toward the elevator, "Prepare room five for new patient. Wideye Potion, Pepperup Potion, and Antidote to Common Poisons to be administered immediately via injection."

Tom follows, hand still resting on the gurney that floats alongside him. He waits until the elevator closes on them to speak up again, "With all due respect, Healer Pollingtonious, I disagree with the proposed course of treatment. I've saved some of the potion that poisoned her for study. It's best to reverse engineer it before administering anything. It's clearly novel and - "

"I have been dealing with such _novel_ poisons for decades now. This is a proven course of treatment to counteract their symptoms and stabilize the patient while a cure is being concocted."

"Without knowing how the potion works, how can you know it will stabilize her instead of making her worse?"

"Experience. How can you know that leaving her in her current condition won't result in death? Already her heart rate is dangerously low and still slowing. And something needs to rouse her from those waking nightmares she is clearly having before they drive her insane. Unless you've encountered this exact potion before, let me assure you that, generalizing from the hundreds of poisons I have seen, this combination of treatments at the beginning generally helps with these symptoms and, even if it does not work, it does not do any harm."

"I will defer to your professional judgement. While monitoring the effects of it carefully."

"Wise choice, Mr. Riddle. But perhaps not so carefully that you get in the way, yes? After all, strictly speaking, I should already have left you in the lobby."

"That threat would be much more effective at persuading me to cooperate if I couldn't already tell that you do plan to kick me out into the lobby as soon as Cain Rosier arrives."

The healer is the one who stays silent this time. A few more seconds pass before the elevator dings and they arrive on the correct floor. The healer takes charge this time, spelling the gurney to float in front of him on the way to a room at the end of a long hallway. A private one that Tom guesses very few in the wizarding community could afford, judging by the larger than usual bed and the spacious layout with two armchairs and a couch opposite it.

Tom watches the healer carefully as he levitates her from the gurney to the bed. As soon as he steps away to spell the now empty gurney back down the hall and examine the potions bottles already prepared on the counter, Tom takes his place at her side. He lifts her head briefly to lay her hair out across the pillow so it's not being tugged on as she moves, then straightens her dress and tucks the blanket around her.

As he is about to step away, she reaches out and grabs his wrist to mutter, "Tom. Cold."

He thinks she means she is cold and reaches for another blanket but she shakes her head feebly, eyes half open staring at him. His fingers flex, running along her arm, and some of the tension on her face begins to disappear. He realizes what she means. _He_ is cold. Because of the horcruxes and the way they affected his blood flow, his fingers are always cold. He reaches up and cups her cheek, letting his palm rest against her skin, noticing it is burning hot now. Her eyes close again.

He leans in, almost forgetting he should most definitely not kiss her here, let alone when she's barely conscious and obviously can't consent to it. Instead, he just whispers, "I am never letting you out of my sight again, my little harpy."

She whimpers and turns her head away. He suppresses a sigh and moves back, settling in one of the armchairs and watching while the healer administers the potions.

"I will be back in ten minutes to check in on her. We should be able to see the effects starting by then, but please do not disturb her while they work," the healer says as he puts away his supplies and turns to Tom, who just nods. "If you don't mind me asking, Mr. Riddle, what exactly is your relationship with Ms. Malecrit?"

"I do mind," Tom answers tersely, his gaze only breaking away from her to look at the old man after he finishes speaking. He sees the look on his face and adds, "I didn't do this to her, accidentally or otherwise, if that's what you are thinking. Why would I risk bringing her here if I had?"

The healer forces a smile, "Of course that is not what I was thinking. Just curious."

"That's good. I would hate to think anyone could be so unprofessional as to make such unfounded assumptions," Tom answers with a coy smile before fishing the vial out of his robe. "Here. Don't use it all up in one go."

"Let me guess, you think you can make an antidote better and faster than we can?"

"Rosier will think he can too, so do be sure to save enough."

* * *

Ten minutes? Unless time runs differently here, Tom is absolutely certain that more than ten minutes has passed. At least according to the clock on the wall and his own pocket-watch, it has. More like 25 already with no sign of the healer. Well, if he's not going to keep his promises, neither is Tom. He puts down the paper he has been reading and pushes himself up to check on her.

Merlin, she's burning up. When he had found her, she'd been as cold as ice. Now she is as warm as a fire. Yes, pepperup is supposed to warm you, but surely not this much. He pulls the blanket back and finds something else that makes his heart clench. She's as still as a sculpture. He puts his hand on her chest to feel the rise and fall of her breath. Too shallow. Too slow.

He has to steady his own breathing before imploring, "Cass, open your eyes."

No response. He places his hand on her face again, hoping she will react. Nothing. "Cassandra, please. Just look at me for one second."

Was she shaking her head or had he imagined that small movement of her chin?

"Cass, try. For me."

"Can - " she starts to answer weakly but her voice fades. Fuck. Fucking fuck.

He runs to the door and sticks his head out of it, screaming for a healer before collapsing against the nearby wall, closing his eyes and trying to think.

She'd been cold and still when he'd found her. Then he'd neared and she'd started to move. Had she been heating up then? And then the apparation and St. Mungo's and she'd been trying to wake up, trying to break through the fog to process it, he could tell. She'd recognized him. And the potions. He thought they'd been working. At first, he'd kept looking up and he'd seen her start to relax, start to shift to her usual sleep position, start to flex her fingers and open her eyes for longer periods of time, even turn her head to look around after looking at him. He'd thought she was coming to.

When had she gone still? When was the last time he'd looked up and seen her eyes open? Five minutes? Ten? He'd been reading a story on the upcoming elections and had lost track of time. How long was it? Two columns. Maybe eight or nine minutes for him to get through, usually. Usually. Had he looked up once during it? He couldn't remember. Which maybe meant he hadn't. Which meant she'd gotten better for probably the first 15 minutes and then something had triggered her to slide back down over the last 10.

Unless what had triggered the slide _was_ getting better.

Finally, he hears footsteps rushing down the hall and moves back to her side, trying to keep himself as composed as possible. The same healer comes back in, followed by two others, one of them pushing a cart brimming with concoctions. He pulls out the diagnostic wand again, but Tom speaks up before he can start his pointless tests.

"Don't bother. Your treatment backfired. It caused her to try to wake up and the potion was supposed to stop her from doing so. Something in it is sapping away her energy - the more she expends, the stronger its effects. Which means if your potions keep trying to wake her up, the poison will only kill her faster instead of keeping her in the catatonic state it was supposed to put her in originally."

The healer looks up at him, blinks as he processes, and then concedes, "Your theory seems well-founded, Mr. Riddle."

"How long until the antidote is ready?"

"Typically, reverse engineering a potion will take several days. Even if we rush - "

"It won't be long enough."

"Where did you find this poison? Did you check if there were any other potions nearby? Perhaps one of them was already an antidote and she simply didn't have the time to take it before this one went into effect and took away her ability to do so."

"In her old home. I think I would have noticed another potion nearby."

"Somewhere else in the house? Perhaps hidden?"

"I didn't have time to look anywhere else. How long do you think - "

"The potions should reach their peak potency in one to three hours."

"That's not enough. We need to stabilize her somehow. Reparifors? Or a shock spell if - "

"I think you know as well as I do that such interventions are clearly too risky."

"Draught of Living Death?"

"I suppose it would force her body to conserve as much energy as possible, and is powerful enough to work despite the other potions. The danger is that we won't know if she gets worse. Or be certain that she'll wake up at all."

"Well if it's one hour, she won't wake up again soon anyway."

The healer considers it for a moment before nodding and gesturing to the medi-wizard with the potions cart. He hands him a vial of potion which the healer promptly hands to Tom with the explanation, "This one can't be injected."

Tom looks down at it and then at her before muttering, "A moment?"

"We need to be here to monitor the effects since it acts immediately. Don't worry about propriety. Now's not the moment. Besides, confidentiality, remember?"

Tom turns back to her and tries to ignore the fact that he's being watched. He unstops the vial and leans over her.

"Cass, open, please," he whispers. Worth a shot. No response, as he'd expected. He holds her jaw between the fingers of his left hand and applies pressure until her mouth opens. With the other hand, he tilts the vial just enough that a few drops spill into it, and then he pleads, "Come on, swallow. Please, for the love of Merlin, for once just listen Cassandra and swallow the damn - good, Cass. So good. Just a bit more."

This keeps working until he gets down to about half the bottle. Then she stops reacting completely, like a limp doll in his arms, mouth slack but throat unmoving.

Tom turns to the healers and asks, "You have Wiggenweld ready?"

The healer nods and says, "Yes, but I don't see any reason to undo - "

"Just have it ready," Tom says between turning to her. He chuckles at the situation and hisses, "Don't you dare hold this against me when you wake up."

Tom raises the vial to his own lips and swigs the potion before bending down to kiss her, transferring it into hers and swirling it around her mouth with his tongue. Kissing her long enough that she gasps, throat contracting, potion flowing down it. He pulls away and whispers, "Everything's going to be fine, love. I'm going to make sure of it."

He stays hunched over her, fingers stroking her face and hair, for another minute or so before standing back up. Or trying to anyway. Merlin, he feels _exhausted_. He feels the seat of a chair behind him - one of them must have moved it over when he'd stumbled - and mutters a thank you before collapsing into it. He takes the Wiggenweld one of them holds out and downs it in one gulp.

All eyes on the room are patiently trained on her for another ten or so minutes before the second healer interrupts the silence, "Shouldn't she look… I don't know, relaxed or something?"

Must be a healer in training then, Tom thinks.

"Clumsily worded, but he is right," the older healer says as if reading his mind. "It should have worked by now. It looks like it has, partially. Physically it has had the desired effects, but mentally she is still struggling against it for some reason. Another dose so soon would be too dangerous. Perhaps a calming draught would - "

"No," Tom commands. "No more potions."

"If she doesn't calm down, our efforts will have been in vain."

"I will take care of it. Leave."

"Legilimency?"

Tom almost wants to sigh. He's already so tired. More tired than he has been in ages, and he knows it can't be the draught because it would have been adequately naturalized by now. It can't be the poison she inhaled either, or he'd have other symptoms.

"Yes," he answers.

"That would be more direct and avoid any potential interactions with everything she's already taken. But controlling another's thoughts would require a strong connection. Are you sure - "

"No, but I am going to try. Though I would prefer to do so in private."

The healer nods and stands up. The rest of the staff shuffle out along with him. Tom rolls up his sleeves and reaches out to hold her hand, leaning forward with his elbows against his knees as he closes his eyes and tries to plunge into her mind. Easy enough, given that she can't exactly maintain her defenses right now.

* * *

He finds himself walking behind her on the patio of a great big white castle overlooking crystal blue water. The warmth of midsummer practically radiates in the air. She looks fifteen or sixteen, a flowing white dress showing off a recently developed womanly figure. She is holding two glasses of red wine and walking up to a blonde-haired boy looking out over the ocean.

"I'm sorry Luc thought it was a good idea to invite you. He's scheduled a boat out for the morning and sent everybody up to bed to prevent another duel," she says as she holds out a glass to him. "I can show you up to the room he had prepared for you if you'd like."

"Thank you for behaving civilly - even though you aren't any less pissed about my presence, clearly," the boy responds as he takes it. In response to her raised eyebrow, he elaborates, "You're sorry he invited me, not about the way I was received."

"Things might be different in America, but here, it's a cultural thing," she responds cooly. "If you don't want me to show you up, then I am going to ret-"

"What, you can't even finish a drink with me because I'm a - what do you all call it - mudblood, right?" he blurts out, interrupting her.

His words seem to be enough to convince her to stay, probably just to prove him wrong. She responds evenly, "Yes, that's what we call it."

"Mudblood. What a funny idea. I'm a duke, you know? In the muggle world, that's the exact opposite of dirty blood."

"We don't care about the muggle world."

"I know. Just funny how one person can be two different things. But that's the thing about bigotry, isn't it? You can always choose what parts of a person to see. You see me as a mudblood, and you don't want to associate with me because of it. The Germans see me as a Jew, and they want to kill me because of it," he says. When she does not respond, he simply sighs and says, "It's a shame I have to leave. This place reminds me of home."

She seems to let out a giggle despite herself, judging by how wide her eyes go and how quickly her face snaps back into a neutral expression. She feigns haughtiness as she says, "This place looks nothing like Britain."

"Not Britain. My family moved to Britain after the first war, when things started getting bad for us, and then to America when things started getting bad for everyone else. Croatia. Standing here, I can remember what it was like to run along the green hills and chase rivers to the sea as a child."

She pauses for a minute before saying, "There's a house to let down by the beach."

He lets out a small, breathy laugh, "You'd let me stay on the same island as you?"

"I'm not the one letting the house, so I won't be the one deciding whether you stay."

"Your boyfriend wouldn't get jealous?"

"Who?"

"Brown hair, big arms, probably the one who owns this castle. Not the sharpest with a wand it seems, but I'm sure he could think of another way to fuck me up."

She rolls her eyes, "Cain Rosier is not my boyfriend."

"But he does own this castle?"

"His family does, yes."

"So he's a duke too."

"Certainly descended from a few, though most pureblood families gave those titles up when they decided to withdraw from the muggle world."

"Do you think he hates me more because he can tell we're alike?"

"He doesn't hate you. It's just the way things are. It's not personal."

"No, he hates me. The second you looked at me, he decided to hate me."

"You are imagining something that is not there. We are friends. Just."

"But he would fuck me up just for having the gall to look at you."

"He's a nice person. Usually."

"To people that aren't mudbloods."

"Yes, to people that aren't mudbloods."

"So if you are friends with him why aren't you also nasty to people who _are_ mudbloods?"

She looks away, out toward the ocean, "Maybe there's more parts of me that you aren't seeing either. Maybe I would like to get to know some of the other parts of you."

He leans in, whispering conspiratorially in a jovial tone, "Careful, if they hear you don't want to burn me at a stake they might kick you out too."

She laughs and it rings out through the night air. He smiles.

"The fact that's the worst thing you can think of happening really reminds me that you don't know my parents," she raises her glass in a toast. "Here's to hoping you never do."

* * *

They are on a different patio on a different moonlight night. She is in a blue silk dress, watching the ocean waves crash against the sand. He is smoking against the railing next to her, wearing a scowl.

"Don't sulk. Surely you understood it had to end sometime," she declares.

"I understand you have to go back to school. I want you to pursue everything you want in life, and of course school is part of that. Of course we will be apart for a while," he responds before pausing for another drag on his cigarette. "What I don't understand is why it has to end forever now. There's the winter holidays, there's spring break, there's another summer coming up. The world is not ending tomorrow."

"The confluence of our worlds is," she replies.

"Why? Because your parents wouldn't approve? Because none of them would? Why do you care more about them than about yourself?"

"I do care more about myself. This is self-preservation."

"In what way?"

"I'll never get a decent marriage if this comes out."

"What, I'm not a decent marriage? I could buy you five of those fucking castles. Could give you a bank account big enough to fund all your dreams. Could show you places in the world you've only read about and never imagined actually seeing."

"We've only known each other for two months."

"So?"

"Those are big promises for two months."

"So?"

"When men make big promises like that, they never intend to keep them."

"I do."

"No, you're just saying what you think you need to say to keep me."

"No matter what I say you aren't going to believe me, are you?"

"Very likely not."

"Then let's not talk about me. Let's talk about you. Why are you afraid all of a sudden? Why does it have to end now? It's not like the risks are any different than they were before."

She pauses for what seems like minutes before saying, "Cain knows."

"I don't care. What is he going to do, come kill me for dirtying your precious pureblood skin with my touch? He's welcome to try."

"It means it is only a matter of time before the rest of them do too."

"I beg to differ. The rest of them don't watch your every movement like a hawk."

"Really, this again?"

"If you're worried about them finding out, then let's go somewhere where they can't. Tell them you're sick or you have to go home or something and we'll find another island. Or a city. Or a village in the mountains. There's this beautiful village perched on the edge of a lake in the Rockies, and this gorgeous villa for sale with a porch that hangs over the water. I'm partial to going there, but wherever you want to go, we'll go. And then we'll make plans to meet there again for the holidays."

She laughs and points out, "If there is one thing that could possibly be more telling than my presence, it would be my absence."

"Right, because then he would be pissed enough to tell everyone."

"He wouldn't do that to me."

"If it meant keeping you, he would."

"He was just being nice. Warning me. If the rest of them find out - "

"Oh, please. The only reason he cares about us is because he's too much of a coward to kiss you himself."

"The reason he cares about us is because he is my friend and _this_ could ruin me forever. If it gets around, my parents will toss me out - if they don't kill me first. I will lose my financial support. I will lose all my friends. I will not be welcome at another society event ever again. For the rest of my life, I will lose everything I have ever known. For what? This has been fun, really. I've enjoyed getting to know you. I like you. But a few more months of this is not worth that."

"How do you know it will just be a few more months?"

"I don't, but I would rather play the probabilities than move forward as if there is no risk involved in continuing to carry this on."

"The probabilities? Is that really how you think of our relationship? Fine, let's figure out the probabilities. You seem to believe the probability that he would tell someone is zero. If we leave and go somewhere else, somewhere the probability of anyone else seeing us is also zero, by my calculations, there is no risk."

"There's always some risk."

"Where is it, Cassandra?"

"Maybe we'll fight. Maybe you'll leave. Maybe you'll tell."

"You are so sure he would not hurt you, and yet you seem so convinced I would."

"Unlike you, he doesn't seem to be obsessed with the idea that someone else might want to kiss me. Is the reason you want to go away really to spare me the risk of someone else finding out, or is it just to take me away from him?"

"Cassandra - "

She turns to him, cutting him off, "I know you already bought that villa."

He steps closer to her, "Yes, I did."

She smiles, "Wonderful. You can go to it alone now that we're done here."

He reaches out to grab her hand as she starts walking away, "I don't want to."

"Yes, well…" her voice breaks for a second before she continues. "Well, that's how things are. That's how this works. I told you that before we started, so you can't act like you're so surprised by it."

"Tell me why you're leaving."

"I already told you. We had a whole conversation about it, and now I am ready for that conversation to end."

"We had a whole conversation hovering around it. A whole list of consequences, but never the reason."

"Niko, I don't want to say that word."

"Why not? It's the way you think of me, isn't it?"

"It's not - It's not a nice word."

"Mudblood. Say it. Tell me."

"I don't care that you are muggle-born, it's just that everyone else - "

"No. You do. You even still flinch when I touch you. You don't think this can last because I am. That's the truth, and I don't want you to cover it up by using the polite term."

"I've never called you that. I'm not calling you that."

"If you want me to let go, say it," he says, hand moving to her waist so he can pull her closer. She stays silent, face turned away from him. He keeps goading her, "Come on, I'm sure you've seen it come out of his mouth enough to know how to form it on your own lips, so look me in the eye and tell me what you think of me. Dirty. Filthy. Disgusting. _Mudblood_. Make it so I won't miss you. At least not as much."

"That's not…" she shouts before stopping. "Let go of me."

"Cassandra, the probability of me leaving you is zero. No matter what happens."

She snorts out a bitter laugh, her disbelief showing on her face, before she snarls out, "Yeah, right. Let go of me, mudblood."

* * *

The scene swims and then changes. A Christmas tree twinkling in the corner, an empty bottle of wine and a discarded game of wizarding chess on the coffee table, a glass held precariously between her fingers as she sits on a plush white carpet in front of a roaring fireplace in a red dress. Arms wrapped around her and a voice in her ear.

"I can't believe you thought I would ever let go of you, Cassandra," he whispers. Lips press against the back of her neck, drawing a quiver from her. He teases, "Aren't you glad you came back to me? Is there anyone else you would rather be with right now?"

She blushes but does not answer as he continues pressing kisses into her flesh.

After a few more, he stops to say, "Look at that blush. I think this is the first time I've seen one on you. What have I done to earn such a pretty expression?"

"It must be because of the wine," she answers too quickly. His eyes narrow and his tone changes from playful to serious.

"Ah. Perhaps it is not I who earned it. Thinking of someone else? Perhaps your dinner host? Did that brat finally make a move?"

"Cain and I are just - "

"I understand perfectly well what you two are by now," he cuts in, the anger previously lurking underneath his voice coming out full force now. "You are his dirty little secret like I am yours. He'll embrace you in dark corners and secret places but never out in the open. Or am I mistaken?"

"Yes, you are. You are wrong about him," she fires back.

"You are hurting my feelings, darling. Instead of refuting what I am to you, you choose to defend him. Tell me, what did the little prince do to make you fall under his spell so wholeheartedly all of a sudden? If only I could be half as successful."

"Nothing, and I am not. I just don't appreciate people insulting my friends."

"Did you really believe I would believe that? You came back from your little dinner party practically drenched in his cologne. I am not judging you, Cassandra, but I think I have the right to know what the person who split us up last time is up to this time."

"He wasn't and isn't up to anything. Yet again, you are imagining -" she starts.

He twists her head around and holds it in place with one hand while the other grips her waist to pull her against him. He plunges forward, kissing her. When he is done, he pulls away only enough to hiss, "I am tired of your pretending. I can taste him on you, Cassandra. So he kissed you and what else? Actually, don't bother to answer that. I am not interested in the details or any excuses you might have for them. All I am interested in knowing is whether you would really rather be with him than with me right now. Do you want to go to him? Or go home? I won't stop you, Cassie."

Tom can see the fear flash in her eyes. The fear of being rejected by Cain's parents. The fear of what her own parents will do after she has disappeared for so long. He's certain she does not want to risk being turned out into either of those situations. She swallows before answering, "No."

"Then why did you let him kiss you? I thought you were mine, darling - even if only for a few weeks, even if only in secret. Do you not want to be?"

"I do," she mutters back, voice strained. "I'm sorry."

"Then you'll make this up to me, won't you, Cassie?" he asks with a smirk. She knows the right answer. Knows she has to sing for her supper, regardless of whether or not she feels like singing. She nods, just barely. He presses on anyway. "Why don't you go wash that stench off, put on the gift I left for you this morning, and then come join me for a movie?"

* * *

She's standing in front of a door in a blue floral dressing gown. He answers, beckoning her inside an expansive bedroom and taking her hand. He sits her on the bed, nestled between his legs, while a muggle film starts to play on a screen opposite them. Another bottle of wine appears and he pours two glasses. He never drinks, Tom notices. She does. Half the film passes and half the bottle empties before his hands drift from her side, fingers pulling at the knot near her waist. She reaches a hand up to cover his and tries to pull it away.

He smiles at her warmly, "Too shy?"

She shoots a smile back and nearly whispers, "It's not proper."

"None of this is, but what does it matter when no one will know? I know I don't celebrate, but I'd still like to enjoy my present today. Are you really going to deprive me over such a trivial thing? Especially after - "

Her hand drops away from his and she takes another sip of wine. He pulls the dressing gown open to reveal a nearly sheer white lace negligee.

"So beautiful, darling," he purrs in her ear. " _I_ would never hide you, Cassandra. I would give you anything. I would buy you a splendid house in every city you have ever dreamed of seeing and thousands of books to fill them all up so you can spend your days reading and researching. I would buy you the world and anything you wished for while flaunting our relationship proudly. I would show you off because to me you are a prize, not a liability."

Promises that will come true, but not in the ways she might have hoped for - but she does not know that now. She smiles slightly but still tries to pull her robe closed. His tone turns to concern as he presses, "What's wrong, you still don't believe me? After I've chased you all this time?"

"I do, Niko. It's just… it's not how things are."

"It can be. I don't have to be a liability for you either, Cassie. It all depends how you look at it. Do you really need them anyway? What have they ever done for you? Wouldn't you be better off without them? With me? I would take such good care of you, darling," he hisses in her ear, the muscles in his arm flexing as he grips her wrist.

"I know," she mutters, looking up at him with a forced smile. She faux teases, "Have you admired your present enough yet?"

He ignores her discomfort, his other hand traveling down to explore her skin. He distracts her by saying, "Speaking of presents, I never asked you what you want for your upcoming birthday."

She takes a big gulp of wine before mumbling, "All I want is to never see them again. Just one more year."

"Aww, my poor angel," he coos. "Do you want an apartment in Paris or London? Or perhaps New York?"

"No, I don't need that. Just time to pass faster."

"You don't have to be coy around me, darling. You don't want to go back home. So I'll give you a new home. It's not a big deal."

"I want to… I _can_ take care of myself. I'll be 17 and done with school and - "

"And what, darling? Any decent career takes several years more of training or apprenticeship, during which you'll hardly be paid enough to afford the most frugal living, let alone the kind of life you deserve. I suppose there's always shops and pubs, but it would be a shame to waste your talents on such an occupation. The only thing you really want to do, research and write, won't pay anything for years, and not even after that without a promising book and a publisher."

She falls silent, scowling at her glass as she takes another drink.

After a moment, he reaches forward to pick her chin up and turn her face so that she has to look at him. His voice is considerably softer, "I did not mean for that to come off harshly. I forget you are still young. I know you are capable of anything, darling - but life is hard, and it does not hurt to accept a little help."

"There's always strings attached," she murmurs.

"Are my strings so bad, Cassie?" he teases with a smirk, fingers wandering up her leg. He kisses her and she allows it for a few minutes before pulling away.

"No, I suppose they are not. We shall have to continue this discussion tomorrow, however," she says. She moves to sit up, but the world goes fuzzy around her, everything out of focus. A blink or two and she manages to get her bearings enough to crawl to the side of the bed. "I'm tired, I think I'll go to - "

Her feet touch the ground and she begins to stand. Colors blur into a blend of white and red and green momentarily before she shakes her head and straightens them and herself out. She takes a step forward but trips, knees almost giving in underneath her. She looks more than tired. She looks like she's about to collapse. He catches her before she can hit the floor and pulls her back onto the bed and into his embrace.

"Stay and finish the movie," he says. Commands. Not that whatever he gave her seems to be giving her much of a choice about whether to obey. "Come on, just a few more minutes and then we can call it a night."

She sits back, the world falling out of focus more and more as the minutes pass until all that is clear is his face if she turns and looks. His fingers slip the straps of her negligee down and his mouth slips to her neck.

"I can't keep doing this, Niko," she says, voice shaky.

"Who says, Cassie? It feels good, doesn't it?"

"Things between us have to end. After the holidays."

"You've said that before, darling, and I've proven you wrong. But if you insist and this moment has to be one of the last between the two of us, then at least let us enjoy it properly."

He marks her throat for a while longer before one hand reaches under the fabric to grab her breast while the other slides down her abdomen. Her fingers twitch toward his arm, trying to lift it off her for a second before her hand goes limp and falls back against the mattress again. He pushes her legs apart and slips his hand between them.

"I can't do this," she mumbles, her eyes starting to slip closed, her breathes stuttering.

"You don't have to do anything, darling," he hisses. "Just lay here and I will make you feel _so so_ good."

After playing with her until he's content that she's ready enough, he slips out from behind her, an arm around her waist to steady her as her chest falls down onto the bed. He slips her clothes off, then his own, before climbing on top.

"Sp… spells," she slurs, more of a question than a word.

"You already did them, remember?" he lies.

When she had described what happened, she had made it seem like a youthful mistake. A foolish indiscretion. An accident. This is no accident. This is… the word hangs in Tom's head. He wonders if she knows, if she's realized what it really was too, or if how she had described it to him is how she really thinks of it. If she blames herself, somehow, for staying and for drinking and for letting things go so far. Of course she knows, he thinks. She's a smart girl. But perhaps even a smart girl dare not admit something like this, even to herself.


	31. Between Life and Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll never get free / Lamb to the slaughter / What you gon' do / When there's blood in the water? - Blood / Water by Grandson

There is a house, and it is on fire. A child comes running out. A girl, barely. Three or four years old, by the looks of her. Cassandra looks down at the little creature tugging at her skirt, who is crying and frantically saying, "Please help. Mama and papa won't wake up. My little brother and sister are crying. I can't reach them. Help."

She leans down, cupping the girl's face in her hand to wipe away her tears, and then raises her hand toward the burning building in front of her. The heat of the fire seems to burn away and into her skin, the flames starting to extinguish themselves.

A voice comes ringing out from behind her. A man's voice, strong and deep and demanding, "Cassie, don't."

"They're just babies, Niko. They shouldn't be punished just because their parents…"

"If you put it out, you'll have to go in there and take care of it yourself."

"Niko, please."

"Do I give you all these pretty little things for nothing, Cassie?"

She lowers her hand and the flames rise up again, stronger and faster this time. She turns back to the child in front of her and is about to say something, about to reach out for her again, when there is a flash of green and the little thing crumples up against her, eyes taking on that eerie glow for a second before becoming empty.

A scream. Blood curdling. Throat hurting. It is enough to make Tom want to lock her away from the world again. Not to be his, this time. To protect her. To keep her safe from anybody who would make her scream like that again. Perhaps even from him.

A scream and a sob as she jumps up and away from the corpse, letting the girl's body fall to the ground beneath her. Hands on her shoulders turning her away from the fire, pulling her head against a hard chest. Lips pressed to her forehead and a calming whisper, "Now, my pretty little thing, don't cry. Your work is done for today. Let us clean up then go home and celebrate the eradication of another prejudiced family."

She tries to push against him but is held back by his arms around her. Her hands against his chest flare hotter, prompting him to let go of her. Pain shoots through her mind as he glares down at her and takes out his wand to heal the burns on his skin. She lets him draw her back against him again. The pain stops.

"Tsk, tsk, darling. You know what happens when you hurt me," he whispers to her, petting her hair with one hand as if to soothe her. "Cheer up. That was the last of the obergruppenführers, our work is done for now. We will go home and celebrate by starting our own family. I do hope our children will be just as beautiful as you."

"I will not -"

"Was what happened the last time you denied me not enough to teach you a lesson? I will take your books out of your room before shutting you in this time if the previous experience was not unpleasant enough."

She remains silent, tears stopped, eyes shifted down toward the ground.

"Are you going to make that necessary, Cassandra?" he asks, tone haughty.

Her answer is a whisper, tone deflated, signaling her defeat, "No."

"Good, darling. Now give your beloved husband a kiss, will you?"

* * *

Snow is the first thing he notices when the scene comes into focus again. A snow covered gate with the words " _Lebensborn Institut Zum Begabtes Kinder_ " scrawled above it. She glances up at it before hearing it open and following her husband through.

The caretakers are easy enough to dispose of. Sleeping in their beds, oblivious to any danger coming their way. A green flash as they start to stir at the noise, and then they fall back into their beds looking just as if they were still sleeping. One is spared and ordered to gather the children. Promised freedom if she complies. And she does, waking the 30 or so younglings of various ages from their beds and leading them down to the cafeteria without a mention of why. In exchange, she does get freedom of some kind - the freedom of death.

They are perched in an office overlooking the cafeteria now. The children have grown bored and started playing with one another or falling asleep again on the tables. Cassandra is standing with her arms crossed, and he can see her shaking.

Tom's attention is drawn away from her by the addition of another presence in her head. Cain is standing behind her now, glaring at Tom.

"Get out. I need to - "

"I know. The healer informed me. However, it doesn't look like you're doing anything. Just using this as another excuse to find out things she doesn't want you to know."

"I know what I am doing, and it's none of your concern. Now leave."

"None of my concern? Merlin, how selfish can you be? If my house elf hadn't come to deliver the hospital's letter, I wouldn't even know _my_ girlfriend, _my_ best friend, the person who means more to me than _anyone_ else in the world was in danger. Is still in danger. If you aren't going to help, you can be the one to leave."

"I know what I am doing. Just look at her, she doesn't notice either of us at all. She has to reach the end before she can be pulled out. Otherwise, it won't - "

Cain steps up to her, trying to lay a hand on her shoulder to pull her around, but there seems to be some kind of field around her that stops him. He calls her name but she does not flinch or move, as if she isn't hearing it.

"As I was going to say, it won't work if you try to interrupt her right now. She's too caught up in it. This isn't a memory to her right now, or a thought. It's real. Until she reaches the end, she's not going to be able to realize it actually isn't. The key is to step in at the right time there, before it restarts. So leave before that chance passes."

"If you really cared about her, you'd realize I'm the right person to do that, not you."

"You? You're the one that left her with him. If I'd been there I wouldn't have let - "

Cassandra's voice rings above his, interrupting their argument as she starts one of her own, "Niko, they're just children. Born for the wrong reasons. Unloved. Uncared for. If - "

He smiles and looks over at her, "You mean like you were darling? Born for the wrong reasons. Unloved and uncared for. And look how you turned out. Do you think the world really needs more of you? It's better for them and the world to put them out of their misery now. You know it as well as I do."

She scowls, "If you feel so strongly the world doesn't need more of me, why are you still trying to force me to have children?"

"Oh, darling, I'm done trying," he says, approaching her and cupping her cheek. "If you keep resisting me, the next time you get pregnant, I'm going to put you to sleep for the entire thing so you can't stop it again. Children will be good for us. They'll give you something to love, since you never loved me."

"And what will they give you? More soldiers to train? Just like these poor souls - and yet you condemn them while pretending you are somehow more moral than their caretakers were."

"My sweet Cassie - when we get home I'll remind you what that sharp tongue of yours earns you, so save your voice for your screams. For your information, our children will be raised to have all of your talent and none of your various negative personality traits. They'll be absolute angels, the perfect legacy for me, groomed to turn the rotten Wizarding world around from the inside out."

"I'm sure there won't be any room left in their DNA anyway. Not after they get all of your negative personality traits."

A slap rings through the air and when she looks forward again her lip is cut. Cain tries to step toward her but Tom pulls him back. They can't continue to risk disturbing her fragile mental state before she's ready for it. Who knows how many pieces her mind would shatter into.

She reaches up to wipe away the blood while he just commands, "Apologize or I'll make you do each one individually with your bare hands."

"Why don't you try doing them yourself this time?" she snarls. He reaches out, pulling her forward by the hair. She chokes out, "I'm sorry."

"Again. Until you mean it," he orders. Minutes pass until he's satisfied and softens his grip. He brings his wand up and heals her lip before reaching forward to caress it with his thumb while saying gently, "My pretty little thing. I don't want to hurt you, but you always insist on pushing me. Let's work on that, shall we?"

She nods but they can all see in her eyes she does not mean it. He continues anyway, "As you know, the war is over. This is the last thing I will ask you to do. It's a threat to the future that must be taken care of now. After this, we can focus on our relationship. I'll be able to focus my full attentions on grooming you into a dutiful and obedient wife and mother. Won't that be just splendid?"

Another nod, just as empty as the last. Tom sees her lip twitch and knows she is fighting the urge to bite his finger. At the very least.

"How many of my children do you want to have Cassandra? Before you answer, consider this - I hear your concerns and, as a small act of kindness, would like to offer you a gift. You can spare as many of these children as you will bear for me. I'll even let you pick the ones to save."

Her eyes flicker, her mind working. Doing the math. Thinking about how impossible this choice is. How awful it feels to kill a certain number of them and then have to pick the ones who don't die herself. But isn't it more awful not to? To deny him what he wants when it will reduce the suffering she has to impose by even the tiniest amount?

"F - five," she splutters out.

"Five? Are you sure? That's quite a lot. Not that I wouldn't be happy to have that many or more, but you have been so insistent in the past."

"Six."

"Is that a promise, Cassie?"

"Yes."

"I will keep track of them. If you don't follow through, I can easily take back this gift."

"It's a promise."

"Go ahead and pick."

* * *

Suddenly they are back in St. Mungo's. In another hospital room with just two people in it, only the person in the bed isn't her.

"Cassandra, you _have_ to help me."

"I will help you. Help you die. Do hold still. I promise the pain will be over soon, my beloved husband."

"Please, Cassie. I know you can't -"

"Why do you think I can't? You're the one that taught me how, Niko. First, my parents, then -"

"You love me. You never loved them."

"I never loved you either. You used to know that. You said it yourself, I only married you for all the pretty little things you could give me. You were foolish to think that could change after everything you have done. I cannot wait until I am no longer one of your pretty little things."

"I thought we had grown past this, Cassie. You were behaving so well, darling."

"Yes, well, I had to convince you to let me out of the house and out of your sight, _darling_."

"Stop this, Cassandra. Undo it now and I won't punish you for your insolence."

"Don't be ridiculous. You'll be dead, you won't be able to punish me for my insolence - though I highly doubt you'd keep that promise anyway if you survived."

"You won't inherit anything, you know. The will has it all go to some distant cousin. You will be destitute, on the street, helpless without me. All of your family is dead. All of your former friends have turned against you for being a blood-traitor. They will not take you in. _He_ will not take you in. There will be no one to take care of you, Cassandra. You won't have anyone, anything, if you let me die."

"Darling, I have only been helpless since I have been with you. I will take care of myself. And you forget we married in New York, since we couldn't marry without my parents' consent in the UK or France. By a happy coincidence, a will that completely disinherits a surviving spouse is invalid there. I will get everything, my beloved husband. I just haven't decided whether I will burn it to the ground or keep it as a trophy yet."

"Nobody else will love you, Cassandra. Not after everything you have done."

"Did you love me, Niko? Because if this is love, I'd rather not have it again."

"I suppose, foolishly, I did these last few months. I guess I forgot one thing. You are not a witch, you are a demon. If you do this, one day you will burn too, Cassandra. In hell, for eternity."

"If there is a hell, I don't care if I go there, as long as I never have to see you again. That shouldn't be a problem, as I am sure they saved the worst circle of it just for you. Shush now, darling. It will all be over soon - though I would love to do the things you have done to me for years to you, I am afraid I don't have the luxury."

What she had gone through had made her who she was, who he wanted, but did that mean Tom had to be grateful for her suffering? He shakes the thought out of his head and steps forward toward her as she stands to draw a sheet over his body and then turns to walk away from the hospital bed.

Cain beats him to it. He reaches out, successfully grabbing her hand this time before calling for her attention, "Cass."

She looks up, brows knitting together in confusion, "Why are you here? How did you know… why? You can't be seen with me, it'll ruin - "

His expression mirrors hers as he tries again, "No, listen, Cass. This isn't what you think. It's not real. It's just - "

She laughs, "Trust me, it's real."

Tom speaks up before he can try again, "Cassandra, you know who I am, right?"

She turns to him, staring for a second without answering. He sees her eyes light up in recognition but her mouth remains tightly closed. He steps forward, tilting her chin up so she has to meet his eyes.

"Come on, my little harpy," he whispers. "You know me, don't you?"

"Yes," she answers, biting her lip and looking away toward the bed again.

"This isn't real. I am. Look at me," he commands. Her eyes wander back to his. "This is the past. Just memories and ghosts. You know that's true, don't you Cassandra? You know that this is all behind you, so put it behind you, my little harpy."

"But it seems - "

"You remember me, so you remember when we met, don't you, Cassandra? What day we met, what year we met?" he says earnestly. She shakes her head slightly, whether in disbelief or in confusion he does not know. "Come on, what's my name, Cass?"

"Tom," she almost whispers, her lips only parting slightly.

He smiles, thinking she's finally coming to. But a second later everything is black and swirling at the same time. His mind feels like it is being hit by lightening. His name is ringing in her head on repeat.

And then there they are, standing at the counter of Borgin and Burkes with the snow falling outside, shaking hands as Borgin introduces him. Everything goes fuzzy again.

A green lawn. The buzz of polite conversation. Tom's hand on her arm pulling her along.

A dark office. Her body pressed back against his. The hiss of his threats in her ear.

Her study. His hand around her throat. His wand against her skin. Burning. A scream.

His office. Lips pressing against hers. Fingers clawing at her. Heart racing. A demand.

His voice echoing in her head. _I will do it for you, Cassandra. I will be the monster._

It seems to take forever before they jump forward again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some things my social anxiety tells me you might be thinking: OMG, another short chapter, boo, what a lazy author. Is Tom even in this story anymore? I don't care about these characters. 
> 
> Well, the chapter is short because I have something interesting (yes, involving Tom) planned for the next chapter and wanted to update sooner, and I love my OC's backstory and since I've been hinting at it for a long time I hope you do too. Please, please leave reviews and thoughts because TBH I was so excited to finally get to this part of the story and hearing literally anything anybody is thinking about it makes my whole week so much better. 
> 
> Also, as you might have figured out, I am updating while drunk again. Wow, law school is fun [sarcastic]. As always, thanks for reading! Also, this story is really long and I'm sorry, I didn't know it would be.


	32. Sticking to the Script

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in the Water by Gin Wigmore

She's in the kitchen of her country house, the one they are renovating for the charity, muttering a cooling charm repeatedly at an enormous pot of soup to get it down to an edible temperature while in full evening dress. In other words, the gathering hasn't even started yet and it's already going fucking awful.

Well, its more of a party than a gathering, really. A sort of victory lap for the Family First bill that had just been endorsed by the International Confederation of Wizards the week before and adopted by a handful of European countries, including Britain and France, in the following days. Reunifications were already starting - she'd done photo ops at three so far - and the pureblood community was in a cheerful mood, since they were the vast majority of supporters of Grindelwald and therefore disproportionately affected.

Hence, a party for Tom to show her off at and imply through his approval how heavily he had been involved in the whole thing behind the scenes.

"Do you need a hand?" a voice comes chiming through the doorway to the kitchens. Cassandra turns her head to see Druella standing there, very visibly pregnant and smiling anyway. "I've already sent Cygnus off to mix up a few batches of cocktails and provide small talk for the early arrivals."

Cassandra smiles at her, relief showing on her face, "I think this has reached the temperature where it won't burn anyone's tongue off, but I'm afraid I have no idea what order to serve the canapés in, if you wouldn't mind writing up a list?"

"Of course," she says, stepping forward to survey the trays. A few moments later, she adds casually, "Do you know when he will be arriving?"

"No, we didn't discuss that," Cassandra lies, not wanting to talk about Tom.

"Shame. I hope everyone will have some time to relax before he does," Druella replies, tone gentle and smile kind. Cassandra knows that by everyone, Druella means her, and she's not at all sure if or how to respond. Luckily, Druella changes the subject herself. "It's a shame Cain had to be away this weekend, I'm sure he would've been a big help. At least he'll be back by the time of his birthday next weekend."

Nope, also the wrong subject. Can't just weekend not be about these two? Given that seems too much to ask, can't just one conversation? She tries her best to move the conversation to another topic by asking with feigned excitement, "Boy or girl?"

"Another girl. Cygnus is excited anyway, bless his heart, but I must admit I am a bit disappointed. Probably not as disappointed as mother and father, though they try not to show it, but I suppose they'll get over it since it doesn't really matter for me anyway," she responds, surprisingly emotionless. Horrible thing to change the subject to, Cassandra realizes. She stalls for something else to say, but apparently that doesn't matter to Druella. "Anyway, I look absolutely awful. I can't wait for this pregnancy to be over and to take a break before the next."

"Don't be ridiculous, you look radiant," Cassandra says in a sweet tone.

"Thank you for the flattery, but not half as radiant as you would look, I'm sure. Cain already adores you so much, I doubt he'd be able to look at anything else or move from your side the entire time. You know he adores you, right?"

What else is there to say but the rote answer? She starts, "Of course. I love - "

"I don't just mean love. Not even just to love deeply. He revers you. Worships you like a goddess. He'd follow you anywhere, forgive you anything. He'd give his life for you in a second. He'd give up everything for you."

She's finding it hard to maintain her facade of happiness, but still manages to keep a smile on her face. What are you supposed to say to the sister of someone who has suffered so much for you? I'm sorry sounds wrong. Inadequate. I don't want him to sounds heartless. Unappreciative. She settles for something that expressions both without saying much at all, "That's not really a decision a person should have to make, is it?"

To her credit, Druella does not miss a beat before responding cheerfully, "There are a lot of things in the world that shouldn't be the way they are, but the way Cain feels about you isn't one of them. I know Cygnus loves me, but to have someone feel that way about you… it's what people dream of, isn't it?"

She cannot help it when the smile slips from her face. She had not expected that. Had been sure such an abstract question would end the conversation. Had been sure Druella would agree, at least privately. Had been sure Druella hated her for the way Cain felt, not admired it.

A second later, she realizes what the point of this conversation is and why Druella had gone to the trouble of arriving early to have it. She is her mother's daughter, after all.

"Frankly, Druella, I would be lying to you if I said I didn't dream of more," she says. It comes out harsher than she had intended it, but if it discourages anymore of this meddling it will have served its purpose.

Druella, completely undeterred, answers while smiling sweetly, "What could you possibly dream of that my brother couldn't give you?"

Power. Influence. A legacy. She thinks these things, but does not say them. She knows how saying them would sound. She knows in Druella's mind, a healthy bloodline is the best legacy a witch can hope to achieve.

"I do love him, you know," she simply says. Druella can read between the lines. The tension in the room is thick enough to be cut with a knife. Rather than confronting it, Cassandra opts to escape it by saying, "I'm going to go check the floral settings and table arrangements for dinner. Thank you so much for the help. Do let me know if you need anything."

"Cassandra?" Druella calls after her. She stops and turns her head. "More isn't always better. That's it. It's up to you… it's just… You'd make him _so_ happy. And he'd do everything in his power to make you just as happy."

She knows, and isn't that the worst part? It's not like she doesn't want to do everything possible to make him happy. Not after everything he's been through with her. She just can't.

* * *

There's music playing now and dancing in the ballroom. She steps out to grab another case of wine. When she heads back, Lestrange is waiting for her in a dark corner of the hallway. A planned ambush.

"So, how long has it been?" he hisses, stopping her from passing.

"Since what?" she asks, eyebrow raised, arms already crossed defensively in front of her.

"You started fucking _our lord_."

"I have no clue where you got that idea but -" she says, already moving to walk away. Lie, deny, and avoid. It's a pattern she has down well from years of practice.

"Was it since that day in the restaurant or even before then?" he asks, stopping her.

"Again, I am not -"

"Everyone knows, for fuck's sake. As if you're _trying_ to hurt Cain."

"Everyone talks," she says with a sigh. "That doesn't mean they know anything."

"You know, I think you are the first person he's ever kissed," Lestrange continues with a smirk, not letting her discourage him. "I mean, fucking is one thing, but kissing… that's intimate."

"If you are going to spend this entire conversation slinging around false accusations that you know I am just going to deny, let's do both of us a favor and end it now," she says with a scowl as she turns away from him.

"I would be fucking terrified if I were you," he warns. She pauses and turns back to glare at him. She does not have to speak. The question is written on her face. "Tom Riddle cares about you - and he cares about _very_ few things. Do you think he's ever going to let you go?"

"You are mistaken. If there's one thing Tom Riddle cares about in relation to me, it's what I can do for him. Just like the rest of his friends. Just like you."

"Come on, Cassandra, are you really in that much denial? You see the way he looks at you, just like the rest of us do. You hear that he doesn't speak to you like he does to us."

"That's just because he knows I don't worship him like the rest of you do."

"I know you're smarter than to actually think that's why."

She glares up at him, trying to look as ferocious as possible, "No, I know you're just trying to spread rumors about me to make everybody else hate me too. Cain won't listen to them, so you can stop now."

"I don't need to spread rumors, everybody already knows the truth. Even Cain. Just because he hasn't said anything to you about it, it doesn't mean he actually believes your denials either. It just means he knows you really don't care and saying something isn't going to change it. That or he's still trying to convince himself it isn't true despite the wealth of evidence."

She knows if Lestrange knew that Cain knew, he would tell her exactly what he knows in no uncertain terms. He wouldn't miss a chance to gloat over something like that. Which means what he's saying now is just an attempt to hurt her, just a shot in the dark. She keeps smiling to give off the impression that she's unaffected.

"I am tired of your speculation. There is no evidence -"

Lestrange cuts her off, tone imperious. She's about to shoot a silencing spell at him, but his words shake her focus.

"You know, there's going to be a day he decides he can't risk losing you and he can't stand sharing any longer. When he locks you up somewhere and kills anybody else close to you. It's the way he is, Cass. For Merlin's sake, stop while you can. Don't let that happen to you or to Cain again."

She's taken aback, her mouth agape, "He told you?"

Lestrange smirks, no doubt seeing he's finally got to her, "Just bits and pieces - he was drunk, you were at another meeting. Let it go."

She takes a breath to compose herself before saying seriously, "I can handle Tom."

"A year ago you wanted to flee the country to get away from him, and now you think you can handle him. Why? You think you know him better now? You think he's changed? He showed you who he really is when he branded that snake onto your arm, and rest assured that he would show you again if you ever tried to remove it. You clearly do not know the lows Tom Riddle will stoop to when he's truly desperate."

She wants him to be wrong but she knows he probably isn't. Knows the kind of man Tom is - knows that kind of man very well. But that's also why she thinks she _can_ handle him. Thinks she can keep him from getting too attached. From having too much control over her. Close enough to be useful and far enough to be safe.

"You clearly don't understand the lows I will go to in order to never have another man control me again," she fires back, making it clear there's no room for further arguments.

Still not budging, Lestrange changes tactics and finds a new topic to chide her over, "Do you know what he wants to do? I mean after you two conquer the wizarding world, what he's going to do with his newfound power?"

"Of course," she answers nonchalantly. "Separate wizarding and muggle society. Make wizards self-sufficient where possible, and ensure they are in control where it is not."

"And what does it take to do that, Cass? You know, don't you, and you're pretending you don't care? I don't believe that. We haven't been on the best of terms for some time now, but still, if someone had asked me what you'd grow up to be, genocidal honestly wouldn't have made the list. I thought you were better than us, Cass."

She has to hold back a laugh. Yeah, she wouldn't have guessed that one either, not that they're thinking of the same things. How ironic.

"Maybe I was then. Clearly, I'm not now," she replies mirthlessly.

"Sure. One mudblood hurt you so you're completely on board with killing all of them. Is that really who you are now?"

"It's who you always were, isn't it?" she points out. "You hated them all since we were children. You joined him before I did. I don't see what the difference is between you and me."

"The difference is the rest of us didn't _volunteer_ , Cass! The rest of us are following orders, not making them. The rest of us already can't leave, can't say no. We've done things for him we can't walk away from. We need things from him we have nowhere else to turn for. We aren't just sitting here calmly planning on killing thousands of people and contributing the resources to do so for the hell of it. For something to do. For revenge."

Volunteer? Is that really what he thinks happened? It's not like she just showed up one day and pledged… oh, she realizes, that _is_ probably what all of them think happened. No wonder they resent her so much. They'd all been vying to be his favorite for ages and she'd just shown up one day and won the competition. Lucky her. Any other shop and she'd still be spending her afternoons swimming in the sea and her nights wandering the shore. Alone.

She pushes past that to find something else to refute, "You're assuming they need to die."

Lestrange looks at her skeptically, "We both know that as long as there are mudbloods straddling both worlds, ours can never be completely safe."

"There are other ways to get rid of mudbloods."

"So what, you think he's just going to leave people with magic out there in the muggle world and see what happens?"

She knows she should stop now but she wants to show off. She hasn't even shared this little project with Tom yet. Then again, Lestrange is in a unique position to understand it, and she wants to see if he does as she suspects he might.

"No. You take away the magic first."

"That's not…" he starts, before realization dawns on his face. "You made a potion?"

"Working on it," she says with a shrug.

"Based on one for yourself?" He asks. The excitement is obvious in his voice. No doubt what makes him slip up. "That's how you can control it now?"

She smirks at the confession and asks, "So how long have you known?"

It takes a second before he decides to answer, "I always suspected something when we were growing up, but it was seeing the effect you had on Tom that convinced me."

"You know, I don't think I understood how much you really hate me until now, Roland," she says, confusion showing on her face, mixed with hurt. "Did you really think - no, never mind, clearly you did, so this isn't worth discussing. Enjoy the party."

She tries to turn away but he speaks up before she can, "Do you really expect me to believe that? Come on, Cain is clearly infatuated with you, and even Tom Riddle - the unfeeling, emotionless, meticulously logical Tom Riddle - is at the very least enthralled."

"Yes, I would have expected the Roland Lestrange I knew ten years ago, the one that was like a brother to me, to believe me! To know I never did and never would have used it on either of them," she yells before realizing it. She pulls in a breath and lowers her voice before continuing.

"Cain, I never wanted… I always hoped he would find someone better. Not that I even _knew_ what I was doing or what I was then. And Tom - why in the world do you think I would want that, after what Cain told you? After what happened last time? Trust me, if there was something I could have done to turn Tom Riddle away, I would have jumped at the chance, but that prat is persistent, as I'm sure you know. I never planned any of this out, but if you want to keep believing I did go ahead. I am tired of being judged by everyone around me, and I'm even more tired of caring about it."

She turns on her heel, storming down the hallway, a wave of her hand behind her silencing him when he tries to respond. By the time she reaches the ballroom again, she is the picture of regality: aloof, poised, elegant.

* * *

They're in the bathroom. He'd pulled her in here halfway through her fourth dance with Nott, no doubt thinking she'd already given him two too many. No doubt intending this to be half pleasure, half punishment. He's got her pushed up against the vanity counter, the top of her dress torn, her hair tangled in his hand so he can make her watch him playing with her in the mirror, other hand wandering along her skin, teasing her.

Of course, she could try to stop him, but this feels too good to stop and she'd been growing bored anyway. Instead, she reaches toward his hand, trying to move it where she wants it. Instead, her hips grind back against him, silently begging. He refuses to budge.

He clicks his tongue and whispers in her ear, "If you want something, you're going to have to let me know what, my little harpy."

She knows he chose somewhere close on purpose. Right across the hall from the doors to the ballroom. The walls are not nearly thick enough for someone not to hear her if she lets out the noises desperately trying to escape her body. That's the punishment part, isn't it?

She finally opens her mouth, voice restrained as she hisses back, "I hate you."

"Really, is that so? Then why don't you scream? Someone might come help," he teases.

"You're such a prick," she replies. Really, for them, this is their typical foreplay.

His fingers finally move against her most sensitive spot in just the pattern he knows drives her wild. She cries out at the sudden stimulation, unable to hold back any longer. He smirks and whispers, "That's it, my little harpy, let's let everyone know they don't stand a chance at fucking you better than I do."

"Fuck, Tom… this is not the time to play your games."

"I disagree. It's exactly the time to show them all that only my hands belong on you, as it seems both you and them need a reminder of our relationship. Say it, my little harpy."

He meets her gaze in the mirror and she knows he is ready to keep her on edge forever if that's what it takes. She whispers out, "I want you."

"Louder," he demands.

"They'll hear," she protests.

"Haven't I already made it clear I want them to?"

"Didn't you promise to keep my secrets if I kept yours?"

"The fact that we're fucking is hardly a secret by now, my little harpy."

"And whose fault is that?" she fires back between shallow breaths.

"Kings and queens do not trouble themselves with the squeals of the rats running around their palace, Cassandra," he responds smugly.

"Last I checked, you weren't offering me a throne," she quips.

"My little harpy, I would offer you anything you wish for," he hisses. Something unfurls inside the pit of her stomach at the tone of his voice - the wantonness and the ferocity and the danger - like an animal trying to claw its way out of her skin.

"And would that offer also be a lie, my scheming snake?" she says. She isn't sure about the pet name at first but she sees him bite his lip after she says it and doesn't regret it.

Regardless, he pulls away from her, hands landing on the edge of the counter instead to cage her in as he growls in her ear, "I'm sure there's plenty of women out there who would be more than happy to let people know if I fucked them, Cass."

She laughs, knowing when he is bluffing. She turns around to face him, a smile on her face as she unbuttons his shirt and then sits up on the counter, opening her legs to make room for him, "Too bad you want to fuck me, not them."

He steps forward to meet her but still says, "I could change my mind, Cass."

Another laugh - she can't help it - as she reaches to undo his belt. Her hand skims him, fingers dancing delicately along his cock as she removes it from his pants, closing around him. His head falls back, a groan escaping him.

He is handsome in the candlelight, all angles and sharp edges, just like his personality. The appeal of his face is nothing like Cain's soft, easy beauty, even though the outline of their faces are the same. Even though in the dark she could mistake them with their high, chiseled cheekbones and hard, square jaws.

But Tom's cheeks are hallowed out and his eyes deeply set. His skin lacks the tan that Cain's has. Lacks evidence of any exposure to sunlight, really. A difference accentuated by the shock of his impeccably groomed wavy dark hair. His eyes are his personality: grey, steely, hard, with a hint of something more trying to hide itself behind the ever-expanding black of his pupils. It is a sharp contrast to the bright blue she is used to, the blue that captures your attention as soon as you see it, that invites you in.

She wonders if she has ever really looked at him, or if the general description of _handsome_ had been all she'd grasped before. In this light, he is Ares turned into Mars, his face softer without its usual smirk or glare, the rhythmic rising and falling of his chest visible without the usual controlled stance he maintains, his usually perfect waves falling across one eye.

She returns to the present moment to tease him by asking, "Will you?"

He lifts his head again to look down at her, voice between playful and gloating, "Are you jealous, or am I just imagining it?"

"Imagining it," she replies nonchalantly, pressing kisses against his chest.

"Did I imagine how you looked at me when I was dancing with them then? How would you feel if I took one of them home? Fawley? Or Snyde perhaps?" he digs.

Her eyes narrow at him for a second before she controls her expression again. Of course he has to bring them up now. She tries to pull away. He just grips her thighs to pull her closer.

"Has it ever occurred to you that is perhaps how I feel when I see you with him?" he hisses. "Perhaps why I feel the need to make it clear to him and everyone else that, while I may be generous enough to share a portion of your time, it is I that you belong to?"

"Merlin, how delusional can you get?" she scoffs, moving to fix her dress. Knowing she won't actually leave. Knowing she just wants to hurt him back. "I don't belong to you, and I am certainly not jealous of any girl who wants to. Go ahead and fuck them in the middle of the ballroom for all I care."

"My little harpy, you know I can see through you," Tom says, wrapping his fingers around her wrists and pulling her hands behind her back. He leans forward, only centimeters separating them, and says as he is securing her wrists with his tie, "None of them could hold a candle to you. To who you are meant to be. Who you will be with me."

She has never felt so precious. She has never felt so afraid. It's not comfortable, someone else understanding her like this - and not being afraid to respond to it. It's not safe. This isn't. It's bordering on emotional and she's unprepared. Isn't this the exact opposite of what this should be, what he should be?

Pain shoots through her, pulling her from her thoughts, as his mouth closes around the skin just below her jaw. Pulsing into pleasure as he kisses down her neck, leaving a trial of marks. His hands start to wander up her thighs as he continues to her chest, her mind growing more and more fuzzy, more and more gasps escaping from her as he drags his tongue along her skin. One hand slips between her legs and she is almost sure she is purring, biting her lip trying to hold back but unable to keep the sound encased in her throat.

"Can you seriously say anyone else, even him, can compare to me?" he teases.

Her only answer is a whimper as his fingers slip inside of her, curling in just the way he knows she can't resist. Her hips move against them, a plea escaping her lips. He ignores it, bringing her hurtling closer and closer to the edge as he bites at her breast. Her mind is filled with _him_ instantly. Her legs slip open further and she quivers.

He pulls back just before giving her what she wants and she wants to kill him for it.

"Look at me," he orders. She opens her eyes, desperate, willing to do anything he asks in return for release. "I am tired of competing when there is no competition, Cassandra. Our souls are the same and your soul is mine as mine is yours."

_Almost_ anything he asks, but not agreeing to that. She does not want to be owned by anyone ever again. She does not even catch the end of his sentence, does not even have time to process it before she replies through still labored breaths.

"It's not," she declares, voice resolute. Tom's eyes darken, still staring into hers, and she suddenly knows she should be grateful Cain is not at this party.

"I could send him away," he says, pulling her into a kiss as ferocious as his tone. "Like this but forever. Maybe then you wouldn't feel the need to satisfy his every wish just to pay him back for whatever he did for you when you were children. Maybe then you would not be afraid to admit you are mine."

How many times has she already refused to be his possession? When will he give up?

Silly girl, a man like him doesn't give up, she reminds herself.

Lestrange's voice comes back to her head, mocking her: _You clearly do not know the lows Tom Riddle will stoop to when he's truly desperate._

Her gaze sharpens into a glare and her voice into a dagger, "Is that a threat, My Lord?"

"No. Just an offer to set you free, Cassandra," he answers. She knows not to mistake his calm tone for a sign that he's telling the truth. Knows not to let it go, because that will only encourage him to try again. To try harder.

"Free? If being your property forever is what you call freedom, I'll have to pass."

"Not my property, Cassandra. My partner."

"Your pretty little songbird stuck in a gilded cage."

"As I've said before, I don't want to put you in a cage, my little harpy."

"Everybody wants to put the things they think they own in cages in some form or another so that they can control them."

Lestrange's voice reverberates in her head once more: _Don't let that happen to you or to Cain again._ Tom's silky voice blocks it out, sounding almost like a song as he holds her and declares, "You are not a thing to me, Cassandra."

Merlin, it is so tempting to believe that. But she shouldn't. Can't.

"Then why do you think you own me?" she bites back. Silence fills the room for a second and she can see him searching for an excuse. She looks down and shakes her head as she says, more to herself than him, "Everybody's a thing to a man like you."

"You're one to talk. You're using me as well, aren't you?" he retorts. It's not anger on his face, but something close, something she does not understand until he keeps talking. "And you blame me for wanting to kill him as if I am some kind of machine that could feel otherwise. Yet it has never struck you that he would have already done the same to me if he could, has it?"

It's hurt. He's hurt, she realizes. She stutters out, "That's not the same."

It blooms, the perfect contours of his skin falling apart. It must be an act, she decides. He must be trying to make her feel guilty on purpose so she'll give in. She can't let it work.

"Why not? Because he got you first?"

"Because you started both those things."

"So I should have known what I was getting into, is that your point?" he fires back, an eyebrow raised, the look in his eyes making her think he's going to do an unforgivable any moment now. Before she can move to free herself so she can be ready for a fight, he leans forward to whisper in her ear, "My little harpy, if I had known what you would do to me, I wouldn't have ever spoken to you."

His voice is so soft and it is the last thing she expects from him. His head falls to her shoulder, nose nuzzling into her neck. His hand falls from her hair to cradle the small of her back, pushing her chest against his. He does not speak again, the only noise in the room for a minute or so their breathing. What is this? Vulnerability? No. It can't be. It has to be a trick.

Fuck, it's working. She can feel the hostility leaving her face.

How is she supposed to respond to something like that? I'm sorry? Maybe you shouldn't have? If I had known what you would do to me, I wouldn't have ever spoken to you either? If I had known what you would do to me, I wouldn't have given you the choice not to?

She knows that he's not looking for any of those things. He's looking for her to give in - and she won't. The words feel like stones in her mouth, but she forces herself to say them, "Just because your words are pretty, that does not make them true."

To her surprise, he does not pull away. If he's frustrated at his plan failing, he does not show it. Instead, he kisses her shoulder while saying, "Then I will have to communicate my message in other ways."

She already knows what he is doing as soon as his lips start to wander downwards. This is the one thing Tom loves to do that Cain just _won't._ She thinks its because he is insatiable and revels in the taste of her, in being this close to eating her alive. She thinks its because he knows it is the easiest way to drive her crazy, to get her to beg. She thinks it is because, while some other men fear the switch in position will occasion a switch in the usual power dynamic, Tom knows that when his mouth is between her legs he is in complete control of her pleasure and she is the one worshipping him.

She does not want to stop him, but she does not want to encourage him either. She warns, "That silver tongue of yours might be enough to convince any of them, but you should know it won't work on me this time."

He ignores her reprimand, hands pulling her hips forward, tongue lashing against her until his name is falling out of her throat like a chant.

"Say it, my little harpy," he commands. A command familiar enough for her to know exactly what he is alluding to. She wants this to end. She never wants this to end.

"I want you, Tom," she moans.

"My title. _Louder_ ," he orders. She is about to refuse again when he slides a few fingers into her. She's so close. Complete and total bliss. Thoughtlessness. The world could be on fire right now and she wouldn't know it. She could be drowning right now and she wouldn't feel it.

"I want you, My Lord," she cries out. She justifies it as a reflex, blames it on her body acting before waiting for her mind to catch up. Not that she much cares if anyone heard right now. Right now, she only cares about one thing.

"Good girl," he praises. "So perfect. Come for me."

She loses control at his words, her orgasm crash over her. He removes his fingers. He presses kisses up her skin until he reaches her mouth again. He kisses her, whispering, "I am going to make you the loveliest crown, Cassandra. One that looks as good as you taste."

She can't help but laugh, but doesn't know how to respond otherwise. Doesn't care to. Why would she? She's heard such empty promises before. Instead, she says, "Well we can't have you doing all the work, can we?"

She slips out from under him, pushing him back as she climbs down and falls to her knees. As soon as she licks it, his hands tangle in her hair. She teases him, strings him along for a few minutes, before taking him fully and then pulling off. She sticks out her tongue to lick his head softly and he finally lets out the sound he's been holding in. Animalistic, distinct, and _loud_. Well, there's absolutely no way that didn't echo through the hallway, at the very least.

Suddenly, he pulls her up and turns her around so he can bend her over. He slips into her, going slowly to make her feel every little movement. The hand not pushing her hips back toward his slides up and along the trail of marks he left on her chest.

"You will not be spelling these away, Cass," he orders. Her eyes go wide, registering what his command truly is. Effectively, an order that he be the only one to have her like this. Again, he seems to know what is on her mind. He kisses her before saying, "Is it really such a loss? I fuck you better anyway, don't I? Admit it."

"You fuck me better," she whispers back, lips brushing against his. She doesn't know what she's saying. She's lost in a constant state of euphoria.

"So tell me to send him away," he says with a smirk.

She almost rolls her eyes. Not this again. She's feeling good but not that good. She turns away from him before replying, "You're ridiculous."

"You know you want to," he whispers in her ear.

"You're trying to make me want to."

"What if I never did this again unless you did?"

"You really think you're that good?"

"I know I'm that good. Your begging earlier made it quite obvious."

A small laugh escapes her as she thinks of something to say that will most definitely make him drop this topic. She pretends to be nonchalant about it, "Things would be boring then, wouldn't they? You would have already won. Would you let me go, My Lord?"

He stops moving, fingers digging into her hip as he growls, "What did you say?"

That's right, be angry. It's easier to deal with him when he's angry. He's more predictable.

She almost hopes he won't be today. He's already surprised her quite a few times, why not this one as well? Maybe he'll break the mold. Maybe he won't live up to the kind of man she expects him to be. The kind of man Lestrange had warned her about.

"If I let you win, will you let me leave without repercussion?"

"What's the meaning of you bringing that up again, Cassandra?"

"It means exactly what I said. You told me if I wanted him, I had to stay with you. That was the deal we originally made. So if I don't want him anymore - if I let you send him away - I don't have to stay anymore, right?"

"There is no deal anymore, Cass. You made a choice to stay with me," he says calmly, though the twitching of his jaw gives him away as exactly who she thought he was. A fleeting feeling of disappointment passes through her. She replaces it with anger.

"So can I make a choice to change my mind?"

"Stop," he hisses. She can't.

All she is thinking about are Lestrange's words: _There's going to be a day he decides he can't risk losing you and he can't stand sharing any longer._ She's determined to make it clear to him that if that is what he wants, if trapping her is what he wants, she won't give it to him. In the back of her mind, she hopes he'll make it clear that if she wants to go, he will let her.

"You said you could earlier. So why can't I?"

His hand shoots out to close around her neck, forcing her back against him. She can't move, can only just breath. It doesn't hurt yet, but the threat is there. His other hand slips down to stroke her as he continues his movements again. She would rather close her eyes than see the fury in his. Her heart feels like it is in her throat, also being squeezed.

"You want to provoke me into being the monster you so desperately want to believe I am again? Fine. Do not mistake my kindness and the special leniency I grant you for an inability or an unwillingness to do whatever is needed to keep you here. We have plans, goals, a mission to carry out. _Think_ about leaving again and I will avada him on the spot, then use that amortentia which you have so skillfully brewed to make sure you retain your loyalty to me. If you think there's anything that can make me let go, you are underestimating me. Understand?"

"Perfectly," she answers. Of course she does. She's been a prisoner before.

He kisses her, long and deep, before saying, "I _could_ do anything - but I will not, because I know I do not need to. I know you want this too, my little harpy, whether or not you will admit it to yourself and despite this little charade which you insist on keeping up with him."

He can say whatever he wants about them - she'll even let him believe its true if that's what it takes - but not about her and Cain. How she feels about Cain isn't up to him to decide.

"Its not a charade. He is - "

"If he was anything more than an obligation to you, you wouldn't be doing this. And don't repeat your empty decelerations of love again. We both know they're a lie when you get this wet for me. When you always have. You belong to me, not him. Everyone can see that. You just refuse to."

His words make her want to bite him. To tear the flesh of his neck apart, and then to find his vocal cords and rip them out. But there are better ways to get revenge. Ways that she knows will be more effective.

His thumb lifts to push at her chin, turning her head back toward the mirror.

"Look, my little harpy. See how much you are enjoying this," he orders. When she does not comply, he repeats, "Look or I'm going to open the door so they can watch me finish fucking you."

"You are truly the worst person I have ever met," she snarls as she obeys. At least _he_ didn't bother hiding what he was once she knew. At least _he_ could never make her feel like this. At least _he_ wasn't so good at convincing her she wanted this. Her eyes meet his again in the mirror. Hers dark with hatred, his dark with lust.

"That's what you like about me, isn't it, Cass? If it wasn't, if you really wanted to leave, why would you have already come on my cock twice? Why would you still be here, when we both know you are more than capable of fighting your way out? You do not want to leave me, and you will not say so again. You are mine now and forever, my little harpy. _Mine_. Say it."

"I'm yours, My Lord," she spits out. They are just words. Just lies.

"You know that's not what I want," he chides as he pads a thumb over her nipple.

"I'm yours, Tom," she repeats, his attentions bringing another orgasm on despite her best efforts to hold back.

"Good girl, Cass," he praises. "Now again until you mean it."

He holds out until she's repeated it nearly a dozen times and he spills into her, groaning. She fixes her hair and outfit in the mirror quickly, only slipping in her revenge as she is leaving, "If you understood what love was, you would know which words were actually empty and which weren't, Tom."

The door closes behind her again before he can stop her and make her regret her words. She takes a breath in the hallway before entering the ballroom again, forcing a smile.

The first thing she does is find a drink. The second thing she does is find someone to talk to. Anybody will do, really. Rowle, why not? He's a good talker, can always fill a decent amount of time with stories about his auror missions. She won't have to put much effort into the conversation. And he's smart enough not to comment on anything he might have overheard or any marks he might see.

* * *

She's almost actually enjoying herself by the time Tom interrupts, grabbing her wrist to pull her to his side and calling her name to get her attention. When he'd ignored her after coming back into the room, she had hoped it meant he was done making demands for the night. Well, it was nice while it lasted.

She looks up at him, trying to feign politeness despite her annoyance, "What's wrong, Tom? Were you not fully satisfied by our previous interaction?"

"I was very satisfied, but I am still hoping for a dance as well. Shall we?"

"Perhaps later? I need to finish making the rounds - "

"They can wait, Cassandra. Come," he commands before guiding her hand through the crook of his arm and leading them to the floor. A new song starts just for him. The star of her party. The bane of her existence.

She feels his lips brush her ear as he whispers, "My little harpy, perhaps I got a bit… carried away. Your words were far too blithe, and mine were far too severe. I apologize."

What an amazing apology, complete with placing all the blame on her and brushing the real issue under the rug. It had only taken him an hour to come up with it. True genius, this one.

"You _apologize_? First, to accept that, I would have to believe you really mean it, and I don't. Second, even if you did feel bad about it, even if you did want to take your words back, they were true, weren't they?"

"I do mean it, my little harpy, so let us move on," he says, tone falling short of sincere. Of course, he has to dilute even that half-hearted attempt by adding, "Once this mood of yours passes, I think you'll find our interactions will be as enjoyable for you as they always were."

"And if it doesn't pass?"

"It will."

"You may be able to command me to dance, but you cannot command the way I feel."

"It is not a command - simply an observation, Cass. I know you. Whatever has turned your mood sour will leave your mind by the time I lay you down in bed tonight, my little harpy."

"If you really think you can fuck me into forgiving you, then you're delusional."

"You've forgiven me for doing more based on less before."

She opens her mouth to speak but doesn't know what to say. How can she explain that actually, she's never forgiven him for any of it? That half the time when they are in bed, before he makes her completely lose it, she has to stop her mind from drifting to the day they made their first deal, to the fact that being with him is both a choice and not a choice at all? She closes her mouth again without a response, letting her eyes wander along the other couples dancing instead. There's no point to one anyway. He will believe what he wants to believe.

Still, he does not give up. After only a few seconds of silence, he moves in closer to her, lips almost touching hers as he whispers, "I want you to want to stay, Cass. But if you won't decide to for yourself, then I will incentivize you to."

She catches Lestrange watching them and forces a smile. The music reaches a final crescendo. She takes advantage of the reduced chance of being overheard to say, "Thank you for making that clear, Tom. Enjoy your night."

She moves to step away from him as the next song begins. His grip on her side tightens. He hisses out, "This isn't funny, Cassandra."

"Oh, it's not meant to be," she responds flatly. "I'm serious. Thank you, and thank you for what you said earlier. See, I'd almost deluded myself into believing those beautiful words of yours, but you were kind enough to bring me back to reality. I'm just another one of them. Just another one of your toy soldiers. The only thing that's special about me is that I haven't been around as long, so I haven't outgrown my usefulness or gotten boring yet. Here's hoping I will someday, but until then I don't really have a choice, do I?"

Really, she knows he wouldn't go to these lengths to keep anyone else, knows Lestrange had been correct about that as well, but she twists and misinterprets his words and actions purposefully to try to convince them both otherwise. It is a delicate trick, trying to convince someone else of their own feelings. Trying to convince herself that there's going to be a time when she can escape this.

"Cassandra, I have never - "

"I am not interested in hearing any more lies, Tom," she chides, knowing she can't let him keep talking. "At the very least, however, do grant me a choice about whether I have to welcome you into my home tonight. After all, I have already granted you your share for the week, haven't I?"

"This is not the place to talk about this, Cassandra."

"Why not? You made sure they all knew about it, didn't you?"

"You're upset. We will talk again once you've called down."

"I'm not upset. Just tired. I'm afraid I won't be very much fun until I get some rest anyway, so please do me the favor of finding someone else to entertain you tonight."

"That's really what you want me to do?"

"Why wouldn't it be, My Lord?" she says with a smile. Maybe fucking someone else will help break his attachment. Knowing he did will definitely help break hers.

"Why do you have to be so difficult, Cass?" he grits out, annoyance visible.

"Am I? Luckily for you, as you pointed out earlier, there's plenty of women here who would be more than happy to agree to anything you say. Is it really so outrageous to ask that you spend one night with as many of them as you wish instead of with me?"

She feels his grip tighten for the briefest second before he regains his composure, puts back on his facade, and responds calmly, "Your request is noted."

They finish out the dance and she almost sighs out loud when he lets her step away. She makes the rounds like a good hostess. Ignores Tom's disappearances during them. Ignores Tom glaring at her when he is there. Ignores the reddened faces of the girls that return to the room. Ignores the way they glare at her too.

She has one of the bartenders water down the next bottle of firewhisky and leaves Tom alone to entertain the last few guests. Checks that the guest room on the third floor is made up for him before flooing home, then makes sure to spell it closed and douse the fire immediately.

She lies in bed alone for the first time in months, feeling as if she is drowning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone hasn't figured it out yet, this is a flashback. I don't think I made it completely clear in Chapter 26, but there's actually a few weeks that pass and a subtle change in tone between the first part of that chapter and the second part. This is meant to clarify more of Cassandra's feelings and what's going on in her head leading up to the last few chapters, but I was really going back and forth about whether or not to post it since its so long and I'm not sure it adds too much to the story. Please do let me know what you thought with all honesty :)
> 
> FYI, I will be doing some Tom Riddle drabbles for an OC Trope Challenge over on my tumblr (hogwartsmeangirls) during February. Those will only be posted on tumblr so head on over there if you're interested in reading.


	33. Flipping the Script

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real Boy by Lola Blanc

Tom rolls over, opening his eyes to see light flowing through the sheer curtains. He's familiar enough with this room and those large windows to tell that it is still very early. Yet Cassandra's already sitting at the table underneath them, replying to business letters.

He stays still and just observes her for what feels like an hour, making little notes in his mind. The way the light illuminates the golden stands in her hair. The sound of the quill scratching across the parchment as she writes with her customary quickness. The little pucker of her lips when she's thinking about something.

When he finally grows bored of going unnoticed, he sighs and turns onto his back once again, calling out, "Come back to bed."

Anybody else would take it as a demand. Would run to fulfill his wishes. She laughs. All of the response she needs to tell him she is not going to obey him, especially in her own house.

A few more minutes pass before she finally speaks, "Well, aren't you going to get up?"

"No, I am not," he answers stubbornly. "Come here."

"As you must know, today is a very busy day," she sighs, though he can tell the exasperation in her tone is feigned. When he still does not budge, she finally stands and walks toward the bed. She stares down at him with an eyebrow raised, "We don't have time - "

He wraps a hand around her leg, using it to pull her onto his lap and then flip her under him, pressing kisses against her flesh once she can no longer escape.

"There's that interview about the charity with The Wizard's Voice today."

"So?"

"Will you be attending?"

"Naturally. I am the director, after all."

"Shouldn't you go and get ready then?"

"Plenty of time for that."

"Don't you have that meeting with Nott and his father today as well?"

"Yes, _after_ the interview. You do remember that you need to be at the casino to supervise the delivery during that time?"

"Naturally. I am the owner, after all," she throws back at him.

He chuckles before saying, "My dress robes are already there, so once I am done I will drop in to change and then we can head to the house together."

"I have to swing by the house this morning to make sure the preparations start on time - which is also why _this_ is not going to happen right now - so I was going to drop my things off and then get ready there."

"I will just - "

"Isn't it better if you make a grand entrance? It will look better in the photos. Anyway I am sure you don't want to sit through…"

His jaw tightens as he tunes out the end of her sentence. What she really means is it will look better in the photos if it does not look like they are hosting a party together. It will look better in the photos if he arrives as just another guest, albeit an important one, rather than standing by her side as she greets everyone else arriving.

She's right and he knows it. Their association is best kept off the pages of the Prophet for the both of them, and it would be impossible to do so if there's not a single picture from the event without him in it. Still, he'd ensured there would be an empty place next to her tonight and he wants to fill it.

He bites down hard on the base of her neck, sucking until she yelps and he pulls away to reveal a bruise already forming.

"Fine," he says, finally climbing off the bed and pulling on the robe he'd slung over the armchair he usually reads in the previous night. "I will arrive about half an hour after the party begins. But I will be sitting next to you at dinner, Cassandra, so don't even try to change the arrangements."

"Looks like I'm getting predictable," she replies, rising to fix her appearance. She picks her wand up off the desk and tries to heal the mark he left. A second later, she turns to him and complains, "It won't come off, Tom."

"No, it won't," he mumbles back while fixing his hair in the mirror.

"What - undo it, whatever spell you used," she demands. "Take it off, Tom. I don't have any new gowns with necklines that will cover it."

"Can't," he responds with a shrug of his shoulder. When she glares at him, he adds. "Calm down, Cass. I'm sure you'll found some way to hide it."

After all, she always finds some way to hide the other things she's ashamed of. Like him.

* * *

Tom is still in a bad mood when he stumbles upon something that sends him spiraling.

It is a letter. Not one he happens to intercept with the charmed quill he had given her. One that he reads in the center of Witch's Weekly after seeing the cover of the magazine on a newsstand in Diagon Alley on his way back from the casino that afternoon to check that the shipment had made it in without any issues. She had already been gone, so he'd decided to pick up a new, nicer pair of dress robes at Twilfitt and Tattings and head home to change.

Nobody had warned him about this piece, and he could guess why from the splashy cover photos of Cain and Cassandra along with the headline "WEDDING ON THE WAY?: An insider opens up about the relationship between high society's it boy and the controversial widow." This issue will no doubt be the year's best selling, earning enough profit to make earning his ire worthwhile.

Reading the article, Tom is half sure Cain himself is the alluded to "insider." There is simply too much information featured for it to have come from a source outside of the Rosier family, or at least extremely close to both them and the ministry. After all, public pressure is a strong motivator, and that entire brood seems to very much want Cassandra to be motivated into changing her mind about the subject of this article, part of which reads:

**Race to the Altair?**

Rumor has it that the heir to the Rosier line has already obtained an heirloom ring from his family's Gringotts vault. An engagement is sure to come before the end of the year, but will we be hearing wedding bells as well as Christmas bells this holiday season? Scheduled transfers of assets - including the family manor - already submitted to the ministry's tax department for prior assessment and approval certainly indicate big plans are in the works to finalize his status as the new head of the family by then.

Of course, added to that family fortune if such a union were to happen would be the considerable fortune of Ms. Malecrit herself, a legal name change formalized earlier this year, which may in itself indicate that a union was already in the works just months after the two were first publicly spotted together. Public records show Ms. Malecrit has grown the shipping business left to her by her late husband and used its profits to diversify into a number of industries, both as an investor and as an owner.

Among Ms. Malecrit's inherited properties include not one but four country houses, which are currently being renovated into charity homes per her most recent philanthropic endeavor - perhaps signaling a planned shift in the couple's dynamic as they move toward a more traditional balance of responsibilities. If Ms. Malecrit were to divest herself of her business responsibilities in favor of being a philanthropist and homemaker like other ladies of her status, the dividends could easily make for the largest wizarding foundation in the world.

Certainly, the future of the couple seems full of rosy possibilities. But could such a match perhaps upset the young rose's future, given that it is widely speculated he is being groomed for a head of department role soon and planning an eventual run for minister? Ms. Malecrit remains a controversial figure in Britain, which may polarize both purebloods and muggleborns alike.

However, with mounting evidence coming to light regarding the ministry's extensive (some may say overly so) and wholly unfruitful investigation of her for her husband's death, Ms. Malecrit is beginning to cut a sympathetic figure with growing swaths of wizarding society. Furthermore, with such evidence coming to light, it is becoming clear her late husband is less worthy of sympathy himself. After suffering a childhood of poverty and abandonment, Ms. Malecrit was nevertheless able to excel in school and had a bright future ahead of her before she was wooed by this man of wealth and power at the tender age of 15, under whose hands she endured years of isolation from her follow witches and wizards.

Forced to live in the muggle world, Ms. Malecrit spent her married years carefully studying any books she could get her hands on, primarily teaching herself philosophy and business. Her former husband did not allow her to leave the house alone - it is rumored he also confiscated her wand after any public outings - let alone maintain contact with her parents and friends. It is suspected that he subjected Ms. Malecrit to various kinds of abuse, as leaked ministry documents revealed investigators collected reports from several private physicians who had repeatedly treated her for injuries ranging from broken bones to miscarriages during this period. Despite this, it seems from her grief in her interviews with the ministry that she did love her late husband and mourn his premature loss.

Alone in the world, persecuted by the very institutions meant to protect us, Ms. Malecrit was then run out of the country by vicious public sentiment which, we are sorry to say, we played no small part in fomenting. Reports indicate that it was only recently Ms. Malecrit felt safe re-entering wizarding society, at which point she and Mr. Rosier were able to reestablish their connection as childhood friends as detailed below. It appears their love blossomed quickly after this and has remained flourishing, as a recent letter from Ms. Malecrit to Mr. Rosier indicates.

_Darling,_

_Spring is coming to France again, or at least the early signs of it. The first irises have bloomed in the window boxes overnight, and I wish you were here with me this morning to see them. There is something I like about these early flowers, the ones that challenge the rain and the snow and the wind. So tenacious, so confident. Like you._

_Speaking of spring in France, we must pick a weekend to spend in Paris soon. I wonder if our favorite bookstore is still there, tucked around the corner from the flat. Or if that serene little park we found is still so well-hidden and so infrequently visited as to continue to serve as our personal picnic grounds. Paris with you again would be the most divine thing I have ever experienced, so please promise me you will take some time off for it. I promise I will._

_I am going to Rome today to settle a dispute about a port, and Madrid tomorrow to attend a meeting about a cross-cultural training institute I agreed to invest it. But I will be back in London Friday as usual, and cannot wait to see you. I have a present for you I purchased in Romania last week that has finally arrived. Raw dragonhide gloves, specially fitted. Perhaps you can take me flying out at the manor to test them?_

_I love you with a love that is more than love,_

_Cass_

_Love_. The word itself makes Tom feel sick on a normal day. Seeing it in her handwriting is different. Worse. He remembers how confidently Cain had said it. _She loves me. Ask her._ And how sure he'd been that he didn't need to. Well, here's the answer and he does not like it.

He recognizes the line, though he wishes he didn't and he is almost certain Cain would not have. It is from a poem some all-too-romantic school teacher had insisted the entire class memorize for a valentine's day celebration when he was still attending muggle schools. A muggle poem about lovers who had loved since they were children, and whose love even death could not take away. Not even devils like him could take away.

He will show Cain what the devil can do. He needs to move faster.

* * *

Tom decides to ignore her request and show up early. What's the harm, really, if he just floos in using the fireplace in the office on the second floor and sneaks down?

As he is walking down the back staircase, he hears voices around the corner from the landing. Tom recognizes them but not enough to pin down until he realizes what they are talking about. Cygnus Black and Druella Rosier. No doubt she's told them he hasn't arrived yet, which is why they are so comfortable discussing this here, in a back corner far from the party.

"Did you talk to her?"

"Yes, though how smoothly it went is up for debate. I'm fairly sure she figured out what I was up to as she turned quite cold all of a sudden. Well, at least it seems like she didn't see the story yet. I don't know what mother was thinking with that, other than perhaps to embarrass her."

"Are you sure he shouldn't come tonight? I mean, wouldn't it be better if - "

"No, it's better for him if he doesn't too. Having to see… I don't know how long he can continue to stand it, to be honest. Some time away might calm him down."

"I just feel guilty that he's doing this for my safety."

"Don't. If anything, it's her that should feel guilty. But of course, she doesn't even know it. Her entire life, she's turned a blind eye to anything she doesn't want to see."

"Come on Dru, you know it's not like she has any choice in the matter. That's the only reason she gets within 100 meters of him."

"I know, it's just…" Druella says before sighing. "Let's just hope she says yes, yeah?"

"Don't worry, I'm sure she will," he answers, voice starting to fade away.

"Great, now if only you could convince him."

"Every girl's been raised to want a happy ending, right? The poor girl is magically granted whatever she was missing all along, meets the kind and charming prince, and they have a grand wedding and rule the kingdom happily ever after - the end. That's just how it goes, and it's not exactly like anyone would describe Riddle as a prince."

* * *

From the very moment the dinner service ends, Tom means to summon her and prove them wrong. However, he's pulled aside by Karkaroff before he reaches her. By the time Karkaroff finishes updating him about the search for the diadem, Cassandra's already been pulled to the dance floor by Nott. Tom considers punishing him but then remembers it is a matter of pureblood tradition - a hostess must dance the first dance, and without her usual date at her side and with Tom unavailable, Nott had probably thought he was doing them both a favor.

Of course, that proves rather problematic as now everyone else wants their turn to curry favor, with her and with him. To turn down everybody else's dances would show a level of favoritism he cannot risk. It is the polite thing to do to grant them this little chance to try to get closer to him, so he does.

It feels like half the night has passed by the time she finally takes a break. He hurries to intercept her path to the bar, grabbing her arm to pull her to him. From just a simple look up at him, Tom can tell she knows what he wants, so she lets him lead them away to the closest private location, the bathroom.

As soon as the door closes, he begins trying to achieve his objectives. Within minutes, he's got her pushed up against the counter, the top of her dress torn, her hair tangled in his hand so he can make her watch him playing with her in the mirror, other hand wandering along her skin, teasing her. Her hips grind back against him, silently begging.

He clicks his tongue and whispers in her ear, "If you want something, you're going to have to let me know what, my little harpy."

She finally opens her mouth, voice clearly restrained as says, "I hate you."

He nearly laughs. He knows what that really means. He hisses, "Really, is that so? Then why don't you scream? Someone might come help."

"You're such a prick," she replies.

He presses a kiss against the back of her neck and moves his fingers downward where he knows he will get a reaction. He smirks as she cries out, "That's it, my little harpy, let's let everyone know they don't stand a chance at fucking you better than I do."

"Fuck, Tom…," she sighs. "This is not the time to play your games."

"I disagree. It's exactly the time to show them all that only my hands belong on you, as it seems both you and them need a reminder of our relationship. Say it, my little harpy," he orders, looking up to catch her eye. She turns her head and he kisses her as he plunges a finger inside of her. Her body arches up in response, a whimper escaping her.

"I want you," she whispers.

"Louder," he demands.

"They'll hear," she protests.

"Haven't I already made it clear I want them to?" he teases. He wants everybody to know exactly how much she loves it when he touches her, when he fucks her, when he has her. He wants everybody to know she is his.

"Didn't you promise to keep my secrets if I kept yours?" she fires back.

"The fact that we're fucking is hardly a secret by now, my little harpy," he says. He does not share the fact he heard from Macnair that the bartenders at the casino have already taken bets on their favorite position. She doesn't need to know that.

"And whose fault is that?" she retorts, though he can tell her annoyance is feigned.

He decides to change the subject before it becomes real, "Kings and queens do not trouble themselves with the squeals of the rats running around their palace, Cassandra."

"Last I checked, you weren't offering me a throne," she quips.

"My little harpy, I would offer you anything you wish for," he whispers, pulling her impossibly closer. He means it. He'd cut out his own heart if she wanted it, and that terrifies him. But it also excites him. Has he ever wanted anything more than this, more than her?

"And would that offer also be a lie, my scheming snake?"

Merlin, he nearly does at the way those sweet words drip from her lips. Nearly drops to his knees and reaches for his wand to show her he means his words. Actually, screw his wand. He'd tear it out with his bare hands if he needed to, if that would be enough for her to believe him. But no, he cannot do that. He cannot show her how desperate he is. She will not like that. Does not like that, otherwise she would have fallen for Cain by now. He needs to remain calm. Cool. In control.

He pulls away from her, hands landing on the edge of the counter. He taunts, "I'm sure there's plenty of women out there who would be more than happy to let people know if I fucked them, Cass."

She laughs, turning around to face him, a smile on her face that is enough to send a crack through his chest as she climbs atop the counter. He shivers as her fingers brush his skin when she starts to unbutton his shirt. His eyes travel down to her legs as they part. He steps forward, hands gripping the soft, silky flesh of her thighs, pushing her dress up them and out of the way.

She says playfully, "Too bad you want to fuck me, not them."

He knows she must know how false his response is. After all, he's practically in a trance, his fingers wandering up and down her legs, his lips traversing her neck and shoulder, barely lifting for him to say, "I could change my mind, Cass."

He hears the echo of her laugh in his ear and then feelings her hand slide down to his belt. He pulls away from her with a guttural noise as her hand skims him, fingers dancing delicately along his cock as she removes it from his pants. When her hand surrounds him, his hips instinctively press forward, seeking her out. He would be a liar if he didn't admit this is still the second best thing he's ever felt. The first being another part of her, of course.

He looks down at her, face turned up toward him, and nearly lets out a smile. She nearly smiles back. If he lets this go on any longer, he's going to finish before he has a chance to accomplish what he pulled her in here for.

Her voice suddenly surprises him, a whisper bringing him back to reality, "Will you?"

He looks down at her, surveying her expression for a second before deciding how to respond, "Are you jealous, or am I just imagining it?"

"Imagining it," she replies emotionlessly. If he didn't know she was such a good liar, she'd have him convinced.

Still, the fact that she still won't admit it irks him into responding, "Did I imagine how you looked at me when I was dancing with them then? How would you feel if I took one of them home? Fawley? Or Snyde perhaps?"

She glares at him, pouting slightly at being found out. She hates when he points the truth out to her, after all. He stares back wordlessly, not letting her escape it this time. When she tries to escape physically instead, his immediate instinct is to hold on harder - and to cut her more cruelly with the truth in retaliation.

"Has it ever occurred to you that is perhaps how I feel when I see you with him? Perhaps why I feel the need to make it clear to him and everyone else that, while I may be generous enough to share a portion of your time, it is I that you belong to?"

As soon as he finishes saying it, he knows it was a mistake. That she never likes it when he mentions Cain and points out the depravity of what they are doing. What she is doing. No, she'd rather be a saint driven by him to immorality than a wicked woman indulging her own desires in him.

"Merlin, how delusional can you get?" she scoffs, moving to fix her dress. "I don't belong to you, and I am certainly not jealous of any girl who wants to. Go ahead and fuck them in the middle of the ballroom for all I care."

He takes her wrists, moving her hands away, knowing he cannot let her leave. Will not let her leave things like this. Knowing this is just an act to hide her own guilt and insecurity.

"My little harpy, I can see through you," he says, leaning forward so she can see how serious he is as he whispers his next words. "None of them could hold a candle to you. To who you are meant to be. Who you will be with me."

Her eyebrows crumple in surprise. No, confusion, he realizes a second later. She's no longer angry. She knows what he means. She just can't accept it. She's fighting against it, against what they are and what they feel.

He returns to kissing down her neck, wanting to make her _feel_ everything. It's pouring out of him now in the messy way his body moves against hers, looking for any way to get closer, any way to make her understand. Frenzied and borderline savage. Leaving marks on every inch of flesh he can reach. Tearing aside any fabric in his way. He pushes her panties aside as his mouth closes around her breast, nearly drawing blood as he bites down. She purrs out his name. He pulls back to admire her reaction and catch his breath. Her eyes are closed, head thrown back against the mirror, skin flushed and quivering, lips parted as she gasps and moans.

Yes, this is what she feels for him. Want. Desire. Hunger. Endless and intense and insatiable. Better and more than she has for anyone else. Than she does for Cain. Than he could ever make her feel. This - this desperation, this longing - is only for him. And he won't let her hide that anymore.

"Can you seriously say anyone else, even him, can compare to me?" he hisses as he slips his fingers inside of her. Her hips move against them, pleading for her, and he is patient, giving it to her as he waits for an answer that does not come. He won't let her get off that easily. He pulls back and orders, "Look at me."

She opens her eyes, a flash of anger showing for a second before being overcome by lust again. He kisses her hard, hand holding her chin in place. His other hand strokes tenderly along her side. He waits until she has calmed a bit, enough to think rationally at least, to speak again.

"I am tired of competing when there is no competition, Cassandra," he declares, his other hand slipping to her side as well to hold her as softly as he says his next words. "Our souls are the same and your soul is mine as mine is yours."

"It's not," she says. The certainty in her voice is not what sets him off. It is the fact that her eyes are still soft that does it. That she is still looking at him like she wants to say yes, while refusing to with her words. Tom knows exactly why she won't give in.

He kisses her again, careful to keep any anger out of his voice. This is not about his feelings. He knows this isn't even really about hers. This is about her suppressing her wants in favor of someone else's. Her suppressing who she is in order to fit some perfect ideal that will never be enough to satisfy her. He had promised to set her free and he will.

"I could send him away. Like this but forever," he hisses. "Maybe then you wouldn't feel the need to satisfy his every wish just to pay him back for whatever he did for you when you were children. Maybe then you would not be afraid to admit you are mine."

Her gaze sharpens into a glare and her voice into a dagger, "Is that a threat, My Lord?"

The first time she'd used the phrase, it had made him euphoric. It had made him feel like he belonged to her too to hear her refer to him as her anything. Ever since then, she has only used it when she has to in front of others or when she wants to put distance between them. When she wants to put on an act, to play into their roles. When she wants to destroy the _us_ in his head and make it very clear that, at the bottom of it all, she is not here for him at all - just for who he is. What he can do for her if she cooperates. What he can do to them if she refuses.

How long does she have to pretend he is the villain? When will she admit she really wanted this - wants this - as well?

He keeps his voice calm as he answers, not wanting to set her off any further, "No. Just an offer to set you free, Cassandra."

"Free?" she scoffs. "If being your property forever is what you call freedom, I'll pass."

"Not my property, Cassandra. My partner," he tries, tone growing desperate.

"Your pretty little songbird stuck in a gilded cage."

"As I've said before, I _don't_ want to put you in a cage, my little harpy."

"Everybody wants to put the things they think they own in cages in some form or another so that they can control them."

"You are not a thing to me, Cassandra."

"Then why do you think you own me?" she bites back. She looks away from him, adding with a hiss, "Everybody's a thing to a man like you."

He realizes the answer to his question as he looks at the hatred in her eyes. Never.

How stupid is he, trying to rescue someone who doesn't want it?

Black's voice comes back to his head, mocking him: _It's not exactly like anyone would describe Riddle as a prince._

He tries to shake it out of his head but it keeps knocking at the sides, shouting words like _happy ending_ and _not you_ and _wedding_ and _happily ever after_ and _end_. Transforming to a cacophony of voices screaming at him _definitely not you_. No, never you. You're just a ruthless dictator and a heartless monster and a horrible little boy. You don't deserve her. You don't deserve anyone to lo -

He finally pushes it down when he feels her hand push against his chest. For a second, he thinks she's trying to push him away and nearly grabs at it, at her, to prevent it. Then he looks back at her eyes and sees something there he's never seen her look at him with before. Concern. How odd. So it had been a mask and he'd missed it. So she does not hate him.

Still, she does not want him, a fact which makes every ounce of blood in him boil.

"You're one to talk. You're using me as well, aren't you?" he retorts. Now that the floodgates are open he can't hold back. "And you blame me for wanting to kill him as if I am some kind of machine that could feel otherwise. Yet it has never struck you that he would have already done the same to me if he could, has it?"

She remains stubbornly stoic as she answers, "That's not the same."

The magazine pages flash in front of his vision. _Reports indicate that it was only recently Ms. Malecrit felt safe re-entering wizarding society, at which point she and Mr. Rosier were able to reestablish their connection as childhood friends as detailed below. It appears their love blossomed quickly after this and has remained flourishing._

This isn't fair. Tom was the one to have her invited to that party, he should have been the one standing by her side at it. He should have been the one she had gotten closer to. The one who she had placed her trust in. Had a connection with, a relationship with. A real one, not this. It's not fair, and he's not going to let her keep thinking it is.

"Why not?" he fires out. "Because he got you first?"

"Because you started both those things."

"So I should have known what I was getting into, is that your point?" he challenges.

She falls silent, mouth shutting, not having anything to say for once. He does not break her gaze, waiting. When she turns her head to look away, he impulsively leans forward to whisper in her ear, "My little harpy, if I had known what you would do to me, I wouldn't have ever spoken to you."

He means this. He's never believed he's actually crazy but she makes him into it. Makes him act irrationally and ruins all his plans and yet he is still here, still clinging to her as if everything will crumble to pieces without her at his side. Makes him want nothing more than to feel her against him at all hours and hear her say his name.

His head falls to her shoulder, nose nuzzling into her neck. His hand moves to cradle the small of her back, pushing her chest against his. He does not speak again and is grateful when she does not either, the only noise in the room for a minute or so their breathing.

Finally, she gets scared. He knows she is scared because she says something she clearly does not believe in a tone clearly meant to anger him, "Just because your words are pretty, that does not make them true."

He nearly laughs at how transparent she is. Instead, he kisses her shoulder while saying, "Then I will have to communicate my message in other ways."

"That silver tongue of yours might be enough to convince any of them, but you should know it won't work on me this time," she warns. He ignores her reprimand, knowing it is untrue. Knowing that with his head between her legs he can get her to agree to anything. He wants to remind her of why that is.

He sinks down her body, lips skimming slowly down the surface until he is on his knees. He pulls her hips forward, tongue lashing against her until his name is falling out of her throat like a chant. Just on the cusp for the second time already tonight, but he still refuses to let her go over it without asking.

"Say it, my little harpy," he reminds her.

"I want you, Tom," she moans.

"My title. _Louder_ ," he orders. He can tell she is about to refuse again so he slides a few fingers into her, finding that spot inside of her which makes her clench. She's shaking by the time he starts to pull them out, a warning.

She gives in, crying out, "I want you, My Lord."

He knows she'll justify it as a reflex, blame it on her body acting before waiting for her mind to catch up. He doesn't care. It doesn't matter what she thinks, or even what he'd prefer her to call him. It matters what they hear.

"Good girl," he praises as he pushes them back into her. "So perfect. Come for me."

She loses control at his words, her orgasm crash over her as he watches with admiring eyes. Fuck, she's pretty when she comes for him. He presses kisses up her skin until he reaches her mouth again. One kiss and she opens her eyes to look into his again.

He strokes her hair while whispering, "I am going to make you the loveliest crown, Cassandra. One that looks as good as you taste."

She laughs and then says, "Well we can't have you doing all the work, can we?"

She slips out from under him, pushing him back as she climbs down and falls to her knees. As soon as he feels her tongue lick it, he throws his head back, so hard it almost hurts, holding back a groan. Fuck, this is _good_. This is her wanting him - not just saying she does, but showing she does. The feeling of her mouth enveloping him is all he can focus on at that instant. His hands tangle in her hair.

Normally he would push, he would demand, he would control. But not with her. Every single second is such delicious waiting that he doesn't even believe in the concept of time anymore. Time is too fast. Or too slow. He doesn't know. He doesn't know anything. Just this and her and being absorbed by it. He manages to look down to admire what is happening finally, and almost finishes right at that second because her hands are against his hips to help control her movements, and he can see _his_ mark facing up toward him. She teases him, strings him along for a minute more, before taking him fully and then pulling off. She sticks out her tongue to lick his head softly and that's it.

He pulls her up and kisses her before he can loss control, turning her around so he can bend her over the counter. He slips into her, taking the time to feel every little movement, to make her feel every little movement. She's still so worked up that she pulses around him eagerly, coming again nearly immediately. The hand not pushing her hips back toward his slides up and along the trail of marks he left on her chest.

"You will not be spelling these away, Cass," he orders. He sees her look up at him in the mirror and already knows what objection she will make. He kisses her before preempting any argument by saying, "Is it really such a loss? I fuck you better anyway, don't I? Admit it."

"You fuck me better," she whispers back, lips brushing against his.

"So tell me to send him away," he says with a smirk.

"You're ridiculous," she replies, turning away from him as he expected.

Regardless, he's not going to give up. After everything that happened today, he can't imagine himself not killing Cain the second he sees him touch her again. Not if he knows the current situation is going to continue, possibly forever.

No, not forever, he remembers. It could possibly get worse.

_The poor girl is magically granted whatever she was missing all along, meets the kind and charming prince, and they have a grand wedding and rule the kingdom happily ever after._

He has to take her away from Cain before Cain can take her away from him.

_An engagement is sure to come before the end of the year, but will we be hearing wedding bells as well as Christmas bells this holiday season?_

Why had he let Cain trick him into that stupid fucking bet?

"You know you want to," he whispers in her ear.

"You're trying to make me want to," she responds.

"What if I never did this again unless you did?" he retorts.

"You really think you're that good?" she teases.

"I know I'm that good. Your begging earlier made it quite obvious." he teases back.

"Things would be boring then, wouldn't they?" she says with a small laugh. "You would have already won. Would you let me go, My Lord?"

He stops moving, fingers digging into her hip as he growls, "What did you say?"

She's smiling playfully at him through the mirror as she answers, "If I let you win, will you let me leave without repercussion?"

_Leave_. It's the only word he really comprehends. It's like all the air leaves the room for a second. He grits his teeth and asks, "What's the meaning of you bringing that up again, Cassandra?"

"It means exactly what I said. You told me if I wanted him, I had to stay with you. That was the deal we originally made. So if I don't want him anymore - if I let you send him away - I don't have to stay, anymore, right?

He feels like the room is closing in on him. He tries to keep it from showing in his tone, "There is no deal anymore, Cass. You made a choice to stay with me."

"So can I make a choice to change my mind?"

"Stop," he hisses, feeling his self control quickly slipping away.

"You said you could earlier. So why can't I?" she asks with a smile.

_You know it's not like she has any choice in the matter. That's the only reason she gets within 100 meters of him._

Control gone. His hand shoots out to close around her neck, pulling her against him with just enough force to keep her from moving but not enough to cause any pain unless she does.

"You want to provoke me into being the monster you so desperately want to believe I am again? Fine," he growls. "Do not mistake my kindness and the special leniency I grant you for an inability or an unwillingness to do whatever is needed to keep you here. We have plans, goals, a mission to carry out. Think about leaving again and I will avada him on the spot, then use that amortentia which you have so skillfully brewed to make sure you retain your loyalty to me. If you think there's anything that can make me let go, you are underestimating me. Understand?"

"Perfectly," she answers flatly, as if they are discussing the weather.

He kisses her, trying to convey that he's not doing this because he wants to trap her but because he's so afraid of losing her. His tone has returned to normal by the time he pulls away, "I _could_ do anything - but I will not, because I know I do not need to. I know you want this too, my little harpy, whether or not you will admit it to yourself and despite this little charade which you insist on keeping up with him."

"It's not a charade. He is - " she starts. Tom won't have any of that today. Or ever again.

"If he was anything more than an obligation to you, you wouldn't be doing this," he chides. "And don't repeat your empty decelerations of love again. We both know they're a lie when you get this wet for me. When you always have. You belong to me, not him. Everyone can see that. You just refuse to."

His thumb lifts to push at her chin, turning her head back toward the mirror. His other hand slips down to stroke her as he speeds up his movements again.

"Look, my little harpy. See how much you are enjoying this," he orders. When she does not, he repeats, "Look or I'm going to open the door so they can watch me finish fucking you."

"You are truly the worst person I have ever met," she snarls as she obeys.

"That's what you like about me, isn't it, Cass? If it wasn't, if you really wanted to leave, why would you have already come on my cock twice?" he mocks, smirking. "Why would you still be here, when we both know you are more than capable of fighting your way out? You do not want to leave me, and you will not say so again. You are mine now and forever, my little harpy. _Mine_. Say it."

He does mean forever. He already has the object picked out.

"I'm yours, My Lord," she whimpers.

"You know that's not what I want," he chides as he pads a thumb over her nipple.

"I'm yours, Tom," she repeats as she shivers and pulses around him.

"Good girl, Cass," he praises. "Now again until you mean it."

He holds out until she's repeated it nearly a dozen times and he can't hold back any longer. Two more pumps and he spills into her, groaning. He stays inside of her as he takes her chin in his fingers, pulling her face to his so he can kiss her. He can almost hear the relieved sigh escaping her when he steps back to let her go afterward. She fixes her hair and outfit in the mirror while he does the same before stepping around him to leave.

When she is at the door, she calls back, "If you understood what love was, you would know which words were actually empty and which weren't, Tom."

The door closes behind her again before he can stop her and make her regret her words.

_I love you with a love that is more than love._

The mirror shatters from the force of the anger radiating out from him, spilling down in large chunks and covering the countertop. What the fuck had just happened?

He had had her. He had seen it in her eyes. And then he'd had to push her, and she'd had to say that, and he'd just snapped. Fuck, what had he said? Avada. Amortentia. He looks down and sees the blood under his nails, remembers how he'd dug them into her hip. Fucking fuck fuck. Not this again.

Five months of work wasted because now she remembers who he really is. The worst part was he'd known she was testing him and fallen for it anyway.

No, the worst part is that she does love him.

He stares down at the shards of glass and thinks about which one would be best to stab Cain with. How he would love to watch him bleed out, to show her the consequences of her disobedience. To confirm all her worst fears.

Instead, he takes a few deep breaths and gathers himself before spelling the mirror fixed and walking out. Walking past her and continuing his business. From the looks everyone is giving them, he can tell he has already accomplished what he set out to do tonight. It's better if they both cool off for now. When the party ends, she will still be here.

At least that is what he thinks until he notices she's spent a whole bloody hour talking to Rowle. And she's smiling at him. What the fuck are they talking about that's making her smile like that at _him_? Laughing too. It's indecent. Unacceptable. He storms up to her side, grabbing her wrist and pulling her hand back just as she's reaching out to touch his arm.

He shoots a look at Rowle before facing her and saying, in the most even tone he can manage, "Cass -

"What's wrong, Tom?" she says politely, a mischievous smile on her face hiding what he knows is hostility in her voice. "Were you not fully satisfied by our previous interaction?"

Leaning right into it then, isn't she? She must know that, despite his threats, he won't take the risk of arguing with her here. It won't look good for him if he does, especially after that. People will think him weak if he cannot even reign her in.

"I was very satisfied, but I am still hoping for a dance as well," Tom just answers, smiling back at her. "Shall we?"

"Perhaps later? I need to finish making the rounds - "

"They can wait, Cassandra. Come," he commands. He does not miss the slight roll of her eyes. He steps forward, guiding her hand through the crook of his arm and leading them to the floor. A new song starts just for him, a waltz like that first time they danced.

He waits until the music picks up, for discretions sake, to whisper in her ear, "My little harpy, perhaps I got a bit… carried away. Your words were far too blithe, and mine were far too severe. I apologize."

The words are hard to say but he knows he has to get them out. That they have to move on. That what had happened back there needs to be just a bad moment, not another indication of his bad personality.

She looks away from him, a mix between a sob and a laugh leaving her mouth, "You _apologize_? First, to accept that, I would have to believe you really mean it, and I don't. Second, even if you did feel bad about it, even if you did want to take your words back, they were true, weren't they?"

"I do mean it, my little harpy, so let us move on. Once this mood of yours passes, I think you'll find our interactions will be as enjoyable for you as they always were."

She pulls away from him slightly. He knows it is so that she can see his expression when she hurts him by saying, "And if it doesn't pass?"

"It will," he says resolutely. He knows when she is just trying to cut him and when she means what she says. This is the former, he is sure of it.

"You may be able to command me to dance, but you cannot command the way I feel."

"It is not a command - simply an observation, Cass. I know you. Whatever has turned your mood sour will leave your mind by the time I lay you down in bed tonight, my little harpy."

"If you really think you can fuck me into forgiving you, then you're delusional."

"You've forgiven me for doing more based on less before," he points out. The truth is enough to make her fall silent, out of arguments to parade behind. He moves in closer to her, lips almost touching hers as he whispers, "I want you to want to stay, Cass. But if you won't decide for yourself, then I will incentivize you to."

The closest thing to a real apology he can manage. An admission that she is right. A softening of his rhetoric. He is sorry for what he said, but he is not sorry for the feeling behind it. For the impulse to keep her. For the will to do whatever is needed to have that. He thinks this is what it is to want someone, to feel for them. He thinks she must know that. She must feel the same. If not for him, at least he knows she does for Cain. She cannot fault him for being human when she is too. For being fallible and weak for her the way she is for him.

She just fakes a smile and waits for the song to end before saying, "Thank you for making that clear, Tom. Enjoy your night."

She moves to step away from him. He pulls her back, all his self-control focused on not squeezing too hard as he warns, "This isn't funny, Cassandra."

"Oh, it's not meant to be," she responds with that sickening smile still on her face. "I'm serious. Thank you, and thank you for what you said earlier. See, I'd almost deluded myself into believing those beautiful words of yours, but you were kind enough to bring me back to reality. I'm just another one of them. Just another one of your toy soldiers. The only thing that's special about me is that I haven't been around as long, so I haven't outgrown my usefulness or gotten boring yet. Here's hoping I will someday, but until then I don't really have a choice, do I?"

What complete and utter bullshit. If she believes that, she really has deluded herself. Blinded herself to the truth. He's always known she's good at covering it up with other people, that she's reluctant to admit it even to him - but he's never seen her entirely and actually convince herself of something that is so plainly untrue.

He knows he is losing control of his facade. That he should end this conversation for now before it falls completely. Yet he is almost begging as he argues, "Cassandra, I have never - "

"I am not interested in hearing any more lies, Tom," she chides, cold gaze showing no signs of melting. "At the very least, however, do grant me a choice about whether I have to welcome you into my home tonight. After all, I have already granted you your share for the week, haven't I?"

They both know she's granted him more than that. His stays have been nearly uninterrupted, her bed more familiar to him than his own has been, for weeks now.

"This is not the place to talk about this, Cassandra."

"Why not? You made sure they all knew about it, didn't you?"

"You're upset. We will talk again once you've called down," he says to hide the fact that _he_ is the one who is upset.

"I'm not upset. Just tired. I'm afraid I won't be very much fun until I get some rest anyway, so please do me the favor of finding someone else to entertain you tonight."

"That's really what you want me to do?" he grits out, incredulous. It can't be, not with the way she looked at him while mentioning those other witches earlier.

"Why wouldn't it be, My Lord?" she says with a smile.

"Why do you have to be so difficult, Cass?" he snarls.

"Am I? Luckily for you, as you pointed out earlier, there's plenty of women here who would be more than happy to agree to anything you say. Is it really so outrageous to ask that you spend one night with as many of them as you wish instead of with me?"

His grip tightens around her waist. He's about to apparate out of here with her. To where he isn't sure yet. Somewhere they can be alone. Somewhere she can be his forever.

But doing that would just prove her point, wouldn't it? Just make her hate him more.

He puts back on his facade and replies calmly, "Your request is noted."

Once the dance is finished, he lets her go.

He is not sure how many girls he fucks that night. Tries to fuck, more like it. It is a haze of firewhisky and dark rooms and the unsatisfying whimpers of girls who aren't her. Tonight, he is particularly vicious in his tastes.

He pulls their hair so hard they scream as he pushes their faces down into whatever surface they are bent over. He does not kiss them, because he does not want to lose the taste he already has on his tongue. He does not smell them, because balled up in his other hand is the lace panties he ripped off of _her_ earlier tonight, and whenever he forgets her scent he lifts them up to take it in. Hell, at one point he is pretty sure he nearly chokes one of them unconscious when she tries to call his name. There is only one person he cares to hear his name from.

Then when all of that is still not enough to get him up, he sends them on their way and downs another drink before making his way back to the ballroom to try to find one who is close enough. To try again to fulfill her wish to find someone else to occupy his bed, always in vain.

In the end, he stumbles up to the third floor guest room alone, not even bothering to strip before collapsing into the bed. His hand runs over the sheets, recognizing them as the same ones she has on her bed. He brushes his cheek against them, feeling the fabric ripple under his skin.

For a second, _just one second_ , he wishes he hadn't made those horcruxes so he could just jump out of the window.

This is why love is weakness.


End file.
